Lights In The Dark
by Locked Heart Ami
Summary: Jubilee's on the run, straight into Wolverine, who offers her a chance to attend Xavier's School For Gifted Youth. But Wolverine can't protect her from shadowy Cajun Gambit, bloodthirsty belle Rogue, or Jubilee's own frightening powers....
1. Egg Timer Blues

"There she is!"

Sneakers pounding on the pavement, heart pounding in her chest, Jubilation Lee flew like a firework over the deserted country road, trying to hide herself in the darkness. Her legs felt like jelly, her head spun, but she forced herself to move faster – or tried to, anyway. Deep down Jubilation knew the truth – she wasn't capable of greater speed, and her own exhaustion was rapidly catching up with her, slowing her down. If she hadn't lost her pursuers by now, they would reach her. It wasn't a matter of luck anymore; only a matter of time.

"I see her! We've got her cut off!"

That one was from the left – the cry that answered it was from the right. "Loose the dogs! That'll stop her!"

And abruptly Jubilation heard barking, and felt hot tears begin to slide down her nose. She continued to hurtle over the empty road, for all the good it would do her; a blur of too-skinny arms and legwarmers. The dogs? What was she, a criminal? Well, a little, but not a canine-worthy one. She pictured fangs meeting in her calves, pictured soft flesh ripping, heard a merciless growl. Her eyes brimmed so full that she couldn't see – had to keep running blind. Waiting, as the barking neared, for teeth snapping at her ankle. Her footfalls on the pavement were heavy, echoed through her, made her teeth chatter. Moved from the pavement to the dirt as she veered, trying to shake her pursuers. Soft soil, branches cracking underfoot, dogs howling nearer and nearer. And then footfall on nothing at all, and she was suddenly falling.

Jubilation had known fear before. All mutants had. But she'd never felt terror like this, the horror of falling, falling, falling through black space. She'd have given all of the little she had to be back on the road, safe with the dogs. She could hear someone screaming, and realized it was her, and clawed at the air, fruitlessly fighting the inevitability of hitting ground. She closed her eyes and hoped that in her next life, she'd come back as something good.

Something better than a mutant, anyway. Frankly, now that it was flashing before her eyes, Jubilation's life had kind of sucked.

"We lost her," somebody called, far above her, when she could no longer hear. "Let's head back."

000

Not too far away from her fall, and not too long after it, a lump stirred under a ragged comforter on a dirty mattress, stirred and groaned and threw off the covers, and it was Jubilation. She put a hand to her head and looked around – slowly, dizzily – at her surroundings.

She could see birch trees through the dirty windowpanes. A dusty, geriatric radio played fitfully in the corner, tuned to slight fuzz between country music and electronica. There were only two doors in the room, one closed with a light behind it, and one leading outside, below a mounted deer head. She was in a cabin, then, or to be more accurate, a shack – the place was ten kinds of falling apart.

Rising from the mattress – which hadn't been endowed with the luxury of a bedstead – Jubilation looked up at the deer head. "Yuck," she muttered. She didn't know where she was, or what had happened to her, but one thing Jubilation was sure of – some country hick's dirty mattress was really just _not_ where she wanted to be.

That particular thought gave her a few further – unappetizing -- ideas, and she began inspecting herself all over, from the soles of her bare feet upwards, checking for manhandling, tampering, injury, and similar kinds of ickyness. She seemed to be all in one piece, she eventually decided; the same piece she'd been in last she remembered – not that the last thing Jubilation remembered was anything comforting. _Falling, falling, falling_. She closed her eyes, briefly, and breathed herself through the revulsion and sickness that came with the memory. She had survived. She was alive. That was all that mattered.

Although, while they might not matter in comparison to a sudden smashing death, Jubilation's present circumstances still seemed to present a very possible problem. On the light, cat-burglar feet she'd cultivated over the last few months, Jubilation paced the cabin, scouting out her surroundings, mapping the terrain. Bearskin rug. Muddy motorcycle boots. Map on the wall, various cities circled, some "X"ed out. A toaster. Ugly photographs of boring stuff. Her duffel bug – she hadn't noticed that – sitting at the foot of the mattress.

An egg timer. She could use an egg timer. Didn't have one. Had never really needed one, of course, but it suddenly seemed very sensible to Jubilation that a situation might present itself in the future which required the use of an egg timer, and she'd just be foolish to pass up the opportunity to acquire one.

"Hello?" she called cautiously, and when no one answered, she snatched up her bag and dropped the egg timer in. It was shortly followed by a fork and a crumpled twenty-dollar bill on the Formica table. Waste not, want not. Jubilation was lost in surveying the remainder of the cabin with her experienced and critical eye when somebody growled, "It's not a pawn shop, sister."

She shrieked and instinctively bolted although, later, Jubilation had to ask herself where exactly she had planned to go. Not many hiding spots in a one-room cabin. Besides that, she was intercepted immediately – a short, hulking man in need of a shave stepped from the now-empty bathroom and caught her by the beltloops of her Gap jeans. She lashed out with a boot, caught nothing, while he somehow managed to get her wrists behind her back, breathing heavily into her ear, his breath rancid. God, this situation had all the potential of a slasher movie.

"I'll put it back!" she screamed, hoping against all logic that this was all the guy wanted. She craned her neck, tried to bite at him; even that last hope failed. "I'll put it back I'll put it back I'll PUT IT BACK I'LL –" 

Suddenly she realized that she was screaming and flailing her arms at nothing. The guy had released her, was regarding her with a disgruntled expression, arms folded against the front of his faded wifebeater. "You tried to bite me," he observed in an unreadable tone.

Jubilation didn't really see any way to argue with that; it wasn't like she could pretend she'd snapped at his ear by accident. "I'll put it all back," she said meekly, after a pause.

"I gathered," he said. She smiled winningly at him, feeling sweat trickle down her neck, and set the egg timer and twenty and fork back on the Formica.

"Hell of a way to treat the man who rescued you." He eyed the objects as she set them down, raised his eyebrows. "Egg timer? What'd you want an egg timer for?"

"Needed an egg timer, I'd have an egg timer," Jubilation said defensively. "I don't have one." She felt that her situation was lamentable enough without this slack-jawed yokel calling into question her abilities as a thief.

"Fair enough," the man said, and stepped towards her – Jubilation jumped back, but he was just going to the splattered stove, and he shot her a look of contempt as he took down a cast iron skillet from its rusty nail. "Hey, sister, I don't bite. Unlike some I could mention."

"Whatever," said Jubilation, curling her arms defensively around her bag, in front of her chest.

He turned from her, rummaged in the yellow fridge, came up with a bowl of eggs. "You hungry?"

"What?"

"Are you hungry?" he said again, more slowly. "You're skin and bones, kid."

"I'm on a diet," Jubilation lied lamely.

He nodded slowly, running those unreadable animal eyes up and down her body; she crossed her arms again over her chest, trying not to look appealing. This guy already seemed every inch the big bad wolf, and she was in no mood to be Little Red Riding Hood. "When was the last time you ate?" he asked her quietly.

"Thursday," she admitted, then reconsidered. "No, Friday. Or… it was three days ago, so… what day is today?"

"Long enough," he said, and began cracking eggs. Jubilation watched him warily. "How do you want your eggs?"

This was entirely too hospitable to be benign, she decided, and made her voice hard. "What do you want?"

He sent her that animal glance over one shoulder, but seemed more bemused than angry. "Want? Nothing. Maybe an explanation, why the Brotherhood is after you."

"What's the Brotherhood?" said Jubilation doubtfully. "They were Marines, I'm pretty sure."

"I'd take an explanation as to why the Marines are after you, too," he conceded. "Either one would be pretty unique, I'd guess."

"Panhandling?" she offered weakly.

He snorted. "They don't call in the US army for panhandling, kid." She hesitated, shifting her weight; he shook his head, turning back to the eggs. "Tell you what, girl. You go take a shower – "

Any plan that got her naked raised warning bells for Jubilation. "Why?" she said suspiciously.

"Because," he shot back, "Frankly, you stink. And I'll make up some breakfast and we can talk." She squinted at him with appropriate doubt, but he'd already turned back to the eggs; seemed to have lost interest, for the present. There was nothing blocking her path to the cabin door. She could make a run for it, now, if she wanted to. She didn't know how far she'd get, but there was nothing and no one stopping her from going.

"Towel's in the closet by the bathroom."

Jubilation thought of warm, fluffy towels and every last thought of fleeing to freedom died. "I'll be back in five minutes," she told him as sweetly as she could, and fled to the linoleum-tiled bathroom, and smiled into the streaked mirror as she securely locked the door at her back. Five minutes, half an hour… whatever.

It wasn't like her company was appealing enough to entice her out again quickly; nor the questions he was bound to want to ask, and that she didn't want to answer. For now, Jubilation was resolved to focus on soap, hot water, and maybe nicking a bottle of shampoo.

_A/N: Here is the deal with this fic. (Feel free to skip to the next chapter if you're not into author's notes, but for those of you who are curious to why I'm writing an origins fic, I'd like to explain.) While these characters obviously already have canon "origins", we've seen -- Ultimate X-Men, the X-Men cartoons and movies -- that it can be fun to re-explore the genesis of certain characters and how they join the team. In particular, I liked the X-Men movies, but thought they were wrong not to utilize Marvel's most established, intriguing characters (Jubilee and Gambit never quite got their due. Meanwhile we get Kid Omega. What the hell)! So I decided to write my own "origins" story for the X-Men._

Lights In The Dark_ was originally written in longhand as a stage play. In a moment of insanity I considered sending it to a local theatre troupe. (In a moment of even further insanity, I considered making it a musical. Be very, very, very happy for the world that this did not occur. That is a three-very blessing). Then I remembered that all these characters are, you know, copyrighted and stuff, and I don't own them (so don't sue blah blah blah). "Fanfiction it is!" I said to myself, and discovered it no longer accepts "script-style" fanfics (I'm an old biddie hen who started writing here when "scripts" were still allowed). So, in order to bring my modest fic to you beautiful people, I proseified it into its current format._

_Thus, _Lights In The Dark_ will never be a Broadway musical, but I hope you'll enjoy it. If it brighten your day at all, I am very grateful for reviews, as they brighten mine without fail! Concrit is also greatly appreciated. If I get no reviews at all, I will probably still continue. But somebody may burst into song. You are warned. Love, Locked Heart Ami._

_PS – The Brotherhood in my story digresses somewhat from the traditional Brotherhoods. I originally called it MAUL, but that is a just plain crap name, so The Brotherhood it is, digressions, warts and all._


	2. Coffee And Whiskey

"What were you doing," he grumbled, "Giving birth?"

"If so, you'll find no evidence," Jubilation shot back, in considerably better spirits now that she'd had a chance to wash. She smiled, running her hands through her wet hair; she hadn't even stolen his shampoo, she was that grateful, although she had accidentally destroyed an electric razor when she bumped it off a shelf and bent to pick it up. Well, the guy didn't look like he really used a razor anyway. He wouldn't miss it. "Food ready?"

The guy shot her a warning look at her tone, but set two Dixie plates of scrambled eggs on the Formica table, and a second later two mismatched mugs of coffee. Jubilation slid into a patch-seated folding chair and tucked in with vengeance. Her companion, meanwhile, alternated between munching his own eggs and watching the superhuman speed at which she ate with something close to amazement. "Hungry?"

"No," Jubilation said, around an extremely large mouthful of eggs.

"Right," he said skeptically. "So. Not to put too fine a point on it, but… who the hell are you?"

She grinned. "Nobody."

"And before you were nobody?" he said dryly, apparently quite prepared for her word games.

"Somebody."

"You got a name?"

"Jubilation."

He snorted. "Right. So your name changes with your mood? Now you've got food, you're Jubilation, three hours from now, I'm supposed to call you Hungry?"

"There's no need to snark about it," she said primly. "It's my real name and I happen to think it's severely awesome."

"Right," he said again. "Your parents have a sense of humor."

Jubilation's spirits, buoyed so high by her sudden caloric good fortune, dropped sickeningly. "Had," she said, trying not to sound like she cared, not noticing that she'd begun to pick at her food. "They're dead. How 'bout you?"

"Got no family," he said moodily, gazing out the window, at the birches. "Never have."

"What a surprise," said Jubilation, "Considering the dashing figure you cut and the clean house you keep." She beamed disarmingly at his dirty look. "How 'bout a name?"

"You can call me… Wolverine."

She laughed, and some scrambled eggs went up her nose, and he laughed too as she began to cough, going bright red and gulping her coffee. "'You can call me Wolverine'? Seriously? What, you think you're some kind of action hero?" She giggled. "Hey, how 'bout I just call you BATMAN?!"

"Laugh it up, chicken legs," Wolverine said, sounding disgruntled, as Jubilation giggled behind her Tim Hortons mug. "I remind you that your name is Jubilation. No room to talk." He paused. "That's too damn long to say anyway. From now on, you're Jubilee."

"Don't consign me to your trisyllabic perdition," Jubilee said. "You can call me that, but only because I like it. Kind of snappy."

"Right," he said again, and smirked a little into his coffee.

She smiled at him hopefully, thinking she might be making some headway. "My full name's Lee. Jubilation Lee. Now come on, tell me yours."

"Wolverine," he shrugged again, sipping at his coffee.

"Oh, come on!"

"Wish I could do you better, Jubes. That's all I got."

She frowned. "Oh, yeah? Well, Mr. Wolverine, I got news for you."

"Shoot."

"If my stomach hadn't been glued to my spine, those eggs would have been absolutely disgusting."

Wolverine raised an eyebrow. "Really."

"Yep." This guy had amazing patience, really. She should thank some random god for her sudden stroke of luck. "By the way, your razor? I think I broke it. Sorry."

"Right," said Wolverine, same as always, but his eyes had narrowed and somehow his voice had changed. "You don't think if I nosed into your bag I'd suddenly find it there, huh? In good working order?"

Jubilee gulped. He hadn't taken that quite the way she'd hoped. "No, I-"

There was a SNIKT sound and vicious-looking silver claws suddenly pierced the webs between Wolverine's fingers- sharp, shining, lethal, each as long as a ruler. For the second time that day, Jubilee found herself awash in true terror, eating at her stomach, crawling up her throat. Wolverine examined one claw with a frightening, Zen calm as blood dripped down his hand. "I warned you once, kid. Don't screw with me."

"No, I didn't nick it, honest!" her voice was barely more than a squeak, and, to her humiliation, she could feel the tears starting again. Must have been the eggs. "I never did! I-" he was still staring at her like he didn't believe a single word she was saying, and – desperate not to become Jubilation sushi – she blurted out the truth, trying not to sob with fear. "When I touch things – electric stuff, technology -- they…" Her attempt at maturity failed, and her vision blurred again with tears – Jubilee put her hands over her eyes, humiliated, horrified. "Oh, my god- I swear- pleased put those away!"

Wolverine didn't say anything. There was a SNAKT noise. When Jubilee looked up cautiously, at length, he had retracted the claws, was cradling his head in his hands, looking like a beaten man.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I swear to god."

Wolverine looked up at her, pale, as though he'd aged. "No, I'm sorry," he said lowly, and stood – Jubilee flinched, but he held his hands up, empty. "It's okay. I'm sorry I scared you." He sounded genuinely ashamed. "Are you okay?"She nodded. Wolverine shook his head. "It was just – I didn't think. I won't do that again." Then he realized what she'd said, and furrowed his brow. "That's why they were chasing you, huh? You a mutant?"

"Yeah," Jubilee whispered, hugging her bag to her again, glancing up at him cautiously. "And… you too? I mean… those claws… and you could smell…." She trailed off. "I mean," she began again, softly. "You gotta have a reason for rescuing me."

"Let's just say I understand," Wolverine said. He walked away from the table, returned with a bottle of whiskey; poured some into his empty coffee cup, threw it back in one gulp. "Think I scared us both," he said wryly, when he met her eyes.

Jubilee smiled hesitantly, trying to communicate that he was forgiven without having to say the cheesy words out loud. Eager to change the subject, she eyed the whiskey bottle. "Hey, what? Don't I get some?"

Wolverine chuckled. "How old are you, kid?"

"Sixteen," said Jubilee.

"I'm sorry, how old?"

"Sixteen," said Jubilee.

"I'm sorry," Wolverine said pointedly, "Come again?"

"Twenty-one," said Jubilee.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," said Wolverine, with a wolfish grin, and picked up her mug. "Say when."

"When," said Jubilee. "When. WHEN! Hey!"

"What are you?" Wolverine grinned, handing the mug back to her, much fuller than decorum required. "Some kind of sissy?"

Jubilee sniffed at the vile coffee-and-whiskey cocktail, considering. She knew what most safety experts would say about a young girl accepting a very large drink while in the bedroom of a man she didn't know.

Then again, she knew what most safety experts would say about mutants. "I may be thinner than you, but I'm taller," she declared, and gulped down the whiskey, relishing the burn. Anything at all, to fill her shrunken stomach.

Wolverine groaned a little. "Okay, kid, two basic rules. No stealing my stuff, and no cracks about my height. Got it?"

"Got it," said Jubilee. The whiskey, she found, was going to her head much faster than usual. That's what she got for not eating for days, she decided, and had to make a conscious effort not to slur her "s"s. "Sh- so, why'd you pick me up, anyway? I mean… how? Last thing I remember was all like falling down the rabbit hole." She giggled, then stopped abruptly when Wolverine gave her an odd look.

"Your lucky day, Jubes," he said. "You splash-landed in my stretch of the river. Made a hell of a noise. I come out to investigate and there's an Asian Lady of Shallot face-down in the brook." His tone turned serious. "You ran right off a ravine wall, near as I can guess, and left those soldier boys scratching their heads. Weren't breathing. I had to do CPR."

"Hey!" Jubilee said brightly. The whiskey was burning in her stomach; she suddenly felt a great warmth and affection towards Wolverine, who was looking more cuddly by the minute. "That means we've kissed!"

Wolverine goggled at her in a way she couldn't possibly misconstrue as flattering.

"I mean," Jubilee said defensively, and looked away very quickly, "Nothing!"

"Riiiiight."

"Thanks," she added, fairly sure that this, at least, was innocuous. "I mean for, like, sh- saving me and stuff. So. What are you going to do with me?"

"I'm taking you to Salem with me," Wolverine informed her, with no apparent regard, Jubilee noted, for how she might feel about this plan.

She snorted appropriately. "Salem, huh? What's in Salem? 'Sides a buncha witches."

"Xavier's Academy For Gifted Youth."

She snorted with even more force. It took considerable effort. "Ugh, prep school. Seen enough of those."

"Try again," said Wolverine with a slight smile. "You ever hear of the X-Men?"

"Sure."

"That's their school for mutant kids," Wolverine said. "Teach 'em how to control their powers, and they get an education."

"I never knew that!" It was, Jubilee decided, a wonderful idea. Brilliant, really. "They train… like… little Salem witches! And wizards!" She beamed at the notion. "It's like Hogwartsh! Warts."

"Riiiiiiiiiight," said Wolverine. Jubilee wondered if he could draw those "rights" out any further; this one particularly seemed to have reached a kind of critical mass. "Well, they don't exactly advertise. Anyway, you're headed there."

She wasn't entirely adverse to the idea of going with him, but the way Wolverine had phrased it just seemed like a challenge. "Riiiiiiiiight," she mimicked. "Well, you see how long you can hang onto me, Wolfy."

He shrugged. "Far be it from me to tell you what to do, but with all due respect… do you have a better destination in mind? Xavier's Academy is for kids like you. Kids who are running away." His voice became quieter; he looked again out the window, at the birches. "It seems like a good idea for a while, Jubilee, but trust me -- running away just keeps you running."

"An object in motion stays in motion?" Jubilee suggested.

"Exactly," Wolverine muttered, then realized what she had said and sent her a sharp look. "You've already been to school?"

Jubilee shrugged. "I've only been doing this whole running-away thing for a couple of months. Anyway, who are you to talk 'bout not running?" She jerked her head at the map hanging on the wall, all messed up with Sharpie. "I'd assume those X's are places you've been, right?" she squinted at the map more closely; Wolverine followed her gaze. "Hey, Bangor," she said with more amusement than was entirely appropriate. "I've been to Bangor."

"I'm not running away from anything," Wolverine said. "I'm looking for something."

"Oh, yeah?" said Jubilee. "What?" 

Wolverine glanced at her, and kind of smiled. "I'll make you a deal, kid. You come with me to Salem, I'll tell you what I'm looking for. Is that fair?"

Jubilee hesitated, and, through her whiskey buzz, attempted to properly weigh her options.

"With all due respect," Wolverine added, "Your prospects ain't exactly looking good at the moment. There are plenty more people out there who'll want you dead- in and out of uniform."

"Out of uniform? Like, naked?" Jubilee giggled. No! She had to stop doing this. Act sober. Weigh options.

Wolverine was good enough to ignore her comment. "Now, I don't make a habit of feeding stray cats," he said, in a tone that suggested this was supposed to be some kind of metaphorical warning. If so, it completely flew over Jubilee's tipsy head. "But maybe I'm willing to adopt one. What do you say?"

"Okay, fine." Jubilee rolled her eyes as though letting a younger child have his way. "Just as far as Sh -- Salem." 

"You gotta check out the school," Wolverine added, looking serious, even scholarly.

"Okay, fine," Jubilee groaned. "To Salem… and I'll check out the school. But if I don't like it…." She raised one significant eyebrow and wiggled it a little.

"If you don't like it, Jubes, you're free to go."

"And you'll tell me what you're looking for," Jubilee reminded him, not asking herself why she cared.

"That's right," said Wolverine. "So? We got a deal?"

"Deal," said Jubilee.

Wolverine rose from the table, extended a hand for Jubilee to shake. She grasped at it, missed, lost her balance, and landed hard on her butt on the bearskin rug. "Whoops," she giggled.

"Jubilee?" he said slowly as he helped her up. "How much… I mean… you've had a drink before, right?"

"I had some champagne at my cousin's wedding," she provided brightly.

Wolverine pinched his nose with a thumb and forefinger. "Oh, god," he muttered, "I've intoxicated Sandy Olsen. Jubilee. Hey!" He snapped his fingers in front of her nose to get her attention; she started giggling again, and he apparently gave up. "Okay, you know what?" He said, helping her over to the mattress. "You'd better get some sleep."

"Hey, what's your job, anyway?" Jubilee asked curiously, curling up on the mattress. "Do you, like, work in Salem?"

"You didn't figure it out?" Wolverine chuckled. "I asked you about the X-Men, didn't I?"

"Yeah, said Jubilee, squinting at him suspiciously, "But what does that have to do with – " Oh, wait. "You're an X-Man?!"

"Right in one."

"Wow!" she squealed, waving her arms a bit for emphasis. Then she remembered that, even if he was an X-Man, Wolverine had given her a drink and to the horror of child-safety experts everywhere she was now curled up on his bed. "Don't try anything funny," Jubilee warned him. "I know kung fu. Well, kind of." She hiccupped. "I'm a yellow belt."

"Anything funny is the furthest thing from my mind, believe me," Wolverine snorted, standing up quickly. "You get some rest. We'll leave when you wake up. And if you've got your very own, first-time hangover, I forbid you to blame me."

"Yeah, right," said Jubilee, "Corrupter of youth. Evil wolfman. I'm sure as hell not going to clap for you."

"What?" said Wolverine.

"Nothing," said Jubilee, and touched her head to the pillow, and, with a magnificent snore, was instantly fast asleep.

_A/N: I in no way endorse accepting drinks from strange men you meet in the woods. This is a good way to get offed, as far as a know. Tsk, tsk, Jubilee, you psychotic fireworky maniac._


	3. Crazy Train

"By the way," said Wolverine, as they stood on their platform at the train station, "What the hell are you wearing?"

"What?" Jubilee said defensively, quickly readjusting sparkly headband, pink armwarmers, Hello Kitty backpack. "I look good." 

"Next time, go for subtle," he grumbled, burying his face in a map.

Jubilee stuck her head over it, glowering at him and poking an accusing finger into his chest, holding the hot dog he'd bought her out of the way with her other hand. "Hey, mister, I may have a sense of style coveted by many, but this is not a crime. Especially not compared to getting a legal minor drunk in my remote woodlands Love Shack!"

"Good god, Jubes, keep your voice down!" Wolverine growled, turning several shades of red and pink and looking around quickly to ensure no passersby had heard. "Don't say shit like that in public. And I mean, hell, if you want to talk about who's done what – I don't have the United States Marines after me, sister. AND I bought you a hot dog."

Jubilee shrugged, taking an enormous bite of processed meat and mustard. Now, in considerably better spirits and with a much fuller stomach, even the Marines couldn't faze her. "So what if they've got Jubilation sushi on the menu?"

"What?"

"I mean, it's not like I've done anything wrong," she continued with a wise little nod, watching the trains and trying not to touch anything. "There were no rules against public performance in that mall. I checked."

"Right. Well, I'm not sure that whoever wrote those rules considered the possibility of an adolescent mutant performing fireworks shows in front of the escalators." Wolverine shot back, offering a biased but irritatingly justifiable interpretation of the past exploits Jubilee had related on the trip to the station.

"Behind the escalators," Jubilee corrected him, glowering. "And I didn't hurt anything, did I? Anyway, I was making money. Everything was going super-well."

"I'm not sure how the Marines are going to fit into this story if everything keeps going so well," Wolverine commented.

"Yeah, well," Jubilee muttered, "Too bad for me, it doesn't." She rubbed her forehead; still had a whiskey headache, though not nearly as bad as when she'd woken up. "Mall security nabs me one day, and they're all like, 'you can't do that here'. And I'm all like, 'I'm bringing in business, you should be happy'. And they're all like, 'we're gonna call the cops'." She crossed her arms, glaring at nothing in particular. "And that's fine, okay, but then – get this – they actually do it!"

"For talking back?" Wolverine said, eyebrows raised.

"Well, I swore at them a little too," Jubilee admitted. "But nothing really bad. So anyway, we're at the police station, and they're asking me all these dumb questions – who are you, where are your parents, that stuff. Usually when I tell these guys that my parents are dead, right, they say 'move on' and back off. But this time… I mean, these blues had different questions." She scuffed one pump-clad toe on the metal grate, scowling. "Like about my fireworks and stuff. About the equipment I use. I guess the explanation I made up scored slightly too high on the BS scale, because you know, like, by this time… I'm pretty sure they've got me figured out."

"This is our train," Wolverine said, looking up from the map as an express-to-Salem screamed to a halt in front of them, creating a breeze that ruffled Jubilee's schoolgirl skirt. She held it down, Marilyn-style, and grinned at Wolverine.

"I've never been on a train before."

"Really?" he said skeptically, stowing their bags overhead, and kindly letting Jubilee take the window seat. "How'd you travel?"

"Private jet," Jubilee said sarcastically. "Where was I?"

"Cops figured out you were a mutant," Wolverine reminded her. The train began to move again, with a low hum and a reluctant grind of wheels.

Jubilee couldn't help but grin, watching the woods outside go by with mounting speed. "Right. So they're all, 'we're moving you somewhere else'. And I've been in and out of police stations plenty of times, but I'd never heard THAT before, so I'm like 'where?' and they're all 'none of your business, mutie'."

Wolverine eyed her. "Mutie?"

"Yeah, I know." Jubilee said, rolling her eyes. "I mean, that's what I said. Stupid-ass nickname. I would have said so, but I kinda had more important things to worry about – like, you know, MAKING it my business. I didn't like the sound of that 'mutie' crap." She grinned a little. "Too bad for the blues I had a computer in arm's reach."

"You broke their computer?" said Wolverine. He sounded marginally impressed.

"Hell," said Jubilee, "I did more than that. It was a frigging Fourth of July and believe me, I was out of there like a bottle rocket."

"How long ago was this?" Wolverine asked.

Jubilee counted on her fingers, lips moving soundlessly. "Um… a little over a week ago, I guess." She shifted in her seat; she was starting to feel a little cramped and a little less excited about the train. The novelty wore off quickly, she decided, popping the last bite of her hot dog and licking her fingers. "Now, I can understand them sending the police after me. But the US Marines? Little extreme, don't you think?"

"Maybe," said Wolverine. "If it WAS just for a computer. And if it was Marines and not the Brotherhood's red shirts."

"What the hell is this stupid Brotherhood you keep talking about?" sniped Jubilee. "I've never heard of them."

"Yeah, you wouldn't have," said Wolverine. "Top-secret black-ops team within the US Army. The head operatives are all mutants."

"Whoo hoo," said Jubilee, "They've got a stupid name."

"Look who's talking."

"Look who's talking about who's talking. Anyway, what does that all have to do with me?"

"They train young mutants for combat situations," said Wolverine. "Very secretive. Supposedly, they recruit from down-and-out young runners and street kids." He glanced at her. "Such as yourself."

"Yeah, got that," said Jubilee. "You call that recruitment? They ran me off a cliff face."

"From what I hear," Wolverine said grimly, "They got some pretty aggressive strategies."

"Kind of starting off on the wrong foot, though, isn't it?" Said Jubilee curiously, cracking her knuckles and causing passengers within a five-foot radius to wince visibly. "I don't imagine that anyone would be terribly keen to work under them, those kind of circumstances."

"I don't imagine you'd be offered much choice, Jubes," Wolverine replied. "You remember that girl in the papers last year? Sally Blevins?"

"The girl who was murdered in the mugging?"

"That was no mugging. She was a mutant. Called herself Skids." Wolverine shook his head. "I met her. Nice kid. Force fields."

"Very Star Trek," Jubilee said, rather unsympathetically.

"I guess. Anyway, she was a drifter, like you. Brotherhood tried to recruit her. Far as I can tell, that didn't go over too well, 'cause the next morning they find her, her head's full of holes."

Jubilee shook her head. "That's awful." She turned her head, watched the trees sliding by. Sunset was casting orange light over the forest.

"Yeah, well, what's worse is that she's not the only one. Mutants disappear all the time."

"They just kill them? What a waste of… well… resources."

"Oh, I'm sure they keep some on. The government likes having a few human test subjects around. That's where we found Tommy." Wolverine's voice was a low growl. "All the current members of the Brotherhood combat team are there by choice, though. Which makes them worse than scum, far as I'm concerned."

"Well, yeah, duh." Jubilee felt righteous and offended; it was a nice feeling, just due to the novelty. She hadn't had a chance to get on anyone else's case for a long time. "Why would they do that? That's awful."

"There's plenty of incentive," Wolverine pointed out, "To be fair. Protective from all that oh-so-popular anti-mutant legislation, for instance. Anyway, a lot of the Brotherhood they pick up too young to tell the difference. I know at least one active member came straight from a German freak show."

"Definitely a status upgrade," Jubilee agreed softly, hugging her bag across her chest. "A freak show, huh? That's… well, scary." She paused. "So why do they want me? All I can do is break electric razors and make rainbows."

"They're desperate."

"Hey!"

"I'm not insulting you, Jubes," Wolverine chuckled. "That's the actual reason. They're desperate. Slim pickings out there. Only so many freak shows to raid. Plus, one of their commanding agents just defected."

"Sucks to be them," said Jubilee coolly. "Who was it?"

"Mystique. She was the head of the team," said Wolverine, scratching his chest a little absently. "Shapeshifter. She trained most of the recruits. Now she's with the X-Men, and the Brotherhood's running around like a bunch of headless chickens. No wonder they wanted you."

"I'll buy that," said Jubilee. "So how do you –"

She was interrupted by the _ding, ding, ding_ of the PA announcement system. _"Good evening, passengers,"_ that ubiquitous disembodied voice intoned a moment later. _"Thank you for riding Trans-Am Railroad. In just a few seconds, a squad of US Marines will be passing through your car. They're searching for a wanted individual. She is armed but not dangerous."_

"Hey!" Jubilee said indignantly, but Wolverine clapped a hand over her mouth and the PA continued.

"_Please remain calm and present your ticket and a piece of recent ID in order to facilitate this process. Thank you, and enjoy your trip!"_

Jubilee looked at Wolverine. Wolverine looked at Jubilee. "Shit," offered Jubilee.

Wolverine stood up and seized her by the wrist. Not offering a single "excuse me" to the various passengers he shunted aside, he began pushing his way down this car and eventually the next, Jubilee in tow. He continued this embarrassing process until they were in the last car of the train, a luggage cart.

Jubilee looked forlornly out the window, streaming birches in orange light. "Nowhere left to run," she whispered forlornly, clutching her bag across her chest.

Wolverine just growled in response, reached forward, and, with a grunt of exertion, wrested the door open. The noise of the wind outside was deafening; the pressure of the cabin changed, the vacuum of the door sucking at Jubilee's skirt and hair. She had to catch at the luggage rack to avoid losing balance completely.

"Oh, great," she called about the roar of the wind. "And now what's you bright plan?"

Wolverine reached forward and grasped her about the waist, pulling her from her feeble clutching at the luggage rack. "We're gonna jump," he said simply.

Jubilee caught her breath. _Falling, falling, falling._ Every dark, frightening memory of the previous night came flooding back; she could feel herself breaking into a cold sweat. "No," she squeaked. "No! I can't!" 

"You've got to," Wolverine yelled back. He arranged them sideways in the train door, bracing them, arms wrapped around Jubilee's waist, her fighting him every step of the way. "Now, listen, duck and roll. Try to hit with your shoulder. Don't let go of me, I'll take the worst of it."

"I am NOT jumping off this effing train!"

"Don't worry, I've done this before!" It was almost dark outside. "Okay, are you ready? Three…"

"I AM NOT READY! I will never be ready!"

"Two!"

"Let me go! I'll take my chances with the Marines!"

"One!"

"Wolverine!"

And then falling, falling, falling.


	4. Boys In The Backroom

"You could've killed us," Jubilee reminded him, for about the thousandth time that day.

"So could a squad of Marines," Wolverine grumbled, from behind his crumpled map. "Point is, I didn't, did I?"

"No," Jubilee shot back, "You just stranded us in Louisiana. Louisiana! Lame. Haven't you ever seen _Southern Comfort_?" She made her best crazy Godzilla noise, clawing at the air for emphasis. A few tourists shot her a look, seemed to conclude that she was absolutely mad, and sped past the pair as fast as they could. "Enjoy the French Quarter!" Jubilee called brightly after them, waving. "Try not to catch venereal diseases!"

"Jubilee." Wolverine grabbed her by the wrist, and warned in a tone of infinite cut-the-crap, "Shut up. The idea is not to attract attention, remember?"

"WE CAN'T STOP HERE," Jubilee warned him dramatically, clutching at her heart. "THIS IS ALLIGATOR COUNTRY."

Wolverine sighed and released her. "You're mixing your horror movie metaphors, anyway," he told her. "_Godzilla_ and _Southern Comfort_? There's a crossover I'd pay to see."

"Hey," said Jubilee, impressed. "You may be an old fart, but you know your horror flicks."

"I try."

"How about _An American Werewolf In London_?" She grinned, and launched into the end theme without warning, causing a few more tourists to speed themselves along the sidewalk. "_Bluuuuuuuuuuuuue moooooooooooooooooooon _– "

"JUBES." Wolverine barked. "I'm not telling you again. Anyway, I'm already an American werewolf in New Orleans. London would just be digging us in deeper." 

"True that." Jubilee crouched on the kerb beside him, trying not to make too much actual bodily contact with the pavement. Yuck. "Kinda sucks, doesn't it? We buy those nice tickets to Salem and we barely make it a hundred miles." She paused. "And a hundred more." She considered this, then added, "That was a good song."

"Proclaimers," Wolverine agreed. "Surprised you know them."

"I try. So, Wolverine," she said in as near a professional tone as she could manage. "You've been looking at that stupid map long enough. Where are you gonna haul my bruised butt off to now?" It _was_ bruised, too, although Jubilee wasn't genuinely as upset as she pretended. Wolverine had her best interests at heart; she'd rather be bruised with him than safe and sound with the Brotherhood.

"Hey, sister, a little less with the ungrateful," Wolverine grumbled. He eyed her over the top of the map. "You wanna know what I've done for you so far? Picked you up off the street, saved you from the government, offered you an education and bought you a hot dog. Wanna know what you've done for me? Broke my razor, got me thrown off a train and tried to bite my ear. We ain't breaking even here, Jubes, so why don't you just count your blessings."

"Plan," Jubilee said flatly. "Soonish rather than laterish. That's all I ask. This is the kind of town where you're liable to get shot. My dad wouldn't even do business here."

"Yuppie."

"Hey," Jubilee snapped, so sharply that she surprised them both. "Don't you dare talk shit about my dad."

"I apologize," Wolverine said immediately and evenly. "I was out of line. All I meant was that this is a good town if you can land on your feet."

"As I've evinced over the last couple days, though," Jubilee said with a half-smile, "I possess no particular aptitude for landing on my feet. I'm a bellyflop kind of girl. So I'd really like to get moving."

Wolverine began folding the map, standing up abruptly. "I've got a plan," he murmured. "You just ain't gonna like it."

"Moving in any direction's better than just sitting here," Jubilee said.

"Follow me, then."

Jubilee obediently did, and Wolverine led them into a back alley of the French Quarter – tourist-free and disreputable-looking. The cobbled street was a fairly even mix of dive bars with dirty windows, empty cafes, and one or two pawn shops Jubilee wouldn't have lent a brass farthing to. "Is this plan going to involve po-boys?" She asked hopefully.

"Not right now," Wolverine replied, and without hesitating walked right into the dirtiest and dingiest dive of the lot. Jubilee hesitated, then followed him.

The place seemed empty, aside from a bartender polishing glasses behind the counter, who eyed them as though customers were the last thing he wanted to see. There was noise behind a door, in some kind of backroom, but though Jubilee craned her neck she couldn't see movement through the crack. "You need some directions?" the bartender said hopefully; he looked Jubilee up and down. "Maybe got lost from the Anne Rice tour?"

"Hey!" Jubilee began.

"Jubes," Wolverine said under his breath, not even looking at her, "Much as I appreciate your lightening wit, it ain't really gonna help right now. So why don't you sit down and shut up 'til I'm done."

Jubilee didn't feel either like sitting down or shutting up. She eyed the barman. "I bet that guy would sell me anything," she returned Wolverine's whisper. "I bet he wouldn't care. I could get, like, a screwdriver if I wanted!"

"Jubilee," Wolverine growled, "I already warned you, don't push it."

"Hey," Jubilee retorted, "I remind you, you gave me WHISKEY the first time we –"

"Look, far be it from me to tell you what you can and can't drink," Wolverine groaned, "But this is the kind of place where you get drunk and wake up two days later with no pants."

Jubilee blinked. "You… speak from experience?" she said slowly.

"Definitely. So get a Spite or something and just… go be quiet, okay? I've got some business to attend to."

"FINE," Jubilee pouted, and relocated herself to a chair in the corner of the bar where she could hear and see everything. She was curious about Wolverine's plan, now, particularly as it apparently required no use of feminine wiles. What was a wile, anyway?

Wolverine approached the bar. He leaned on the dirty counter, nodding at the barman. "Hey."

"Hey," said the bartend indifferently, continuing to polish that one glass within an inch of its life.

"I've got five hundred bucks to blow," Wolverine said. Wow, he really didn't beat around the bush.

The bartender shrugged, regarding him impassively. "That's a lot of vodka."

"I'm sure there's a faster way than that."

"Maybe so," the bartender agreed, "But I wouldn't know anything about it."

Wolverine shifted his weight. "Come on, bub. I'm in the mood."

"He's hungry like the wolf!" Jubilee offered from the corner, with a very bright and winning smile.

"Shut up, Jubilee!" Wolverine snapped in frustration, and, just as he appeared to be about to launch into a frustrated spiel of how ungrateful she was, a new voice said, evenly but without managing to conceal its irritation,

"Can't you people keep quiet?"

Jubilee looked up; the door to the backroom had opened wider, and a man wearing dark glasses and a long brown trenchcoat had emerged and was sparing an unimpressed glance on Jubilee, Wolverine and the bartender. Jubilee craned her neck again; behind him, in the back room, she could see a group of men huddled around a scarred wooden table, cards and chips between them.

"What's going on out here?" His voice was low, smooth as velvet, with a Cajun accent that lent his tone a sandpaper quality, kept it from being cloying. He ran a hand through his wavy chestnut hair; Jubilee could feel butterflies starting in her stomach.

"I've got five hundred bucks here," Wolverine told the guy. He was apparently butterfly-free. "You gonna let me have some fun with it, gumbo? 'Cause your bartend don't seem too pleased."

The Cajun looked him up and down a little, hesitated, then seemed to decide. "By all means," he said generously, irritation vanishing like magic from his voice. "Come on in, _mon ami_."

"Come on, Jubes," Wolverine said, and Jubilee stood up, clutching her bag over her chest protectively.

The Cajun's eyebrows went up behind his sunglasses. "Do my ears deceive me?" he said somewhat dramatically.

"Probably not," said Wolverine.

"You're allowing _la petite fille_ to enter such a den of sin as dis?"

Wolverine shrugged. "Call her my good luck charm," he said wryly, although he was careful to shoot Jubilee a glance that reminded her she was anything but.

"Ah," said the Cajun with a smile, "Dat, I understand. Come on in, _chere_." When she was within arm's reach, he took her hand and kissed it. Jubilee could feel herself grinning foolishly; she suddenly felt as though she was walking on air.

"Gambit," he introduced himself with a slight smile.

"Jubilee," she provided in a squeak. She cleared her throat, blushing.

"Ah, of course," Gambit said. "A young lady such as yourself could only be named for _le bonne temps, oui_?"

"Yeah," agreed Jubilee breathily. She had absolutely no idea what he had said.

"Jubes?" Wolverine said, trying to discretely wave a hand in front of Jubilee's eyes. She barely noticed.

"But Jubilee is a large moniker for such a little girl," Gambit said with a slight smile. "Would you object to my shortening it? To Jewel, perhaps, my lovely piece of jade?"

"YES," Jubilee said loudly. She turned to Wolverine, who was watching the whole scene with a look of the highest and most profound distaste. "Get it, Wolverine? If you've gotta call me a nickname, Jewel is way damn better than Jubes! I'm not a piece of… gummy candy!"

"Wash that hand when he's done with it," was all Wolverine said. He'd apparently decided to elevate himself about the entire situation. "God, kid, didn't I specifically tell you to keep your pants on?"

Jubilee stuck out her tongue at Wolverine. The three of them moseyed inside, where the other players were waiting; a collection of scowls, tapping feet and bored sighs communicated that their state was hardly patient. Wolverine took a seat at the table; Gambit pulled out a chair for Jubilee before reseating himself at the head.

"De game is Texas Hold 'Em," Gambit instructed Wolverine, as he shuffled the deck. "Luckily for you, _mon ami_, we were just starting a new one. De blinds are five and ten."

"Can I play?" Jubilee said hopefully. She'd never had an opportunity to participate in illegal gambling before and thought it sounded reasonably appealing. "I can bet tictacs. And a hot dog wrapper."

The other players considered this. "No," one offered. 

"Jewel, _cherie_," Gambit broke in smoothly, "While I appreciate your enthusiasm, perhaps you should concentrate on bringing your hairy friend his good luck, _non_?"

Jubilee pouted and, digging in her bag, moodily began to eat her tictacs and watch the poker game, which moved with immediately knife's-edge intensity. The blinds raised rapidly; one player, then another, was forced to fold and to all-in and withdraw. Eventually only Gambit and Wolverine remained, Wolverine glaring at his opponent and growling his moves, Gambit continuing with unflappable calm. Really, he could have been gardening, not betting hundreds of dollars, Jubilee thought. The other players had taken their hats and coats and slowly skulked out, when the game began to go on too long; the room was empty, but for the three of them.

"All in," said Wolverine.

They turned over their cards.

"A royal flush," said Gambit with a slight smile, regarding the cards in his hand. "Imagine dat."

There was a pause.

"You're cheating," Wolverine snarled.

The temperature of Gambit's voice dropped considerably. "Excuse me?"

"That queen of hearts has been played already."

"Counting cards, _mon ami_?" Gambit held the card in question between thumb and forefinger, regarding it forlornly. "Ah, Lady Luck. You've failed me once again."

"That money's mine, Gumbo," Wolverine growled. "Cough up."

"Well, I would," Gambit began, "But you see – "

SNIKT. Gambit was suddenly facing down six silver claws. "Pay up!" Wolverine barked.

Gambit reached up and removed his sunglasses; two burning, demonic red eyes regarded them impassively. Jubilee caught her breath. With a low growl, Wolverine stood; Gambit rose as well, and put both hands palm-down on the table. Abruptly, it glowed with fuchsia light.

"Explosive temper?" Gambit asked Wolverine, not even sounding fazed. The table glowed brighter. Then, with a burst of blinding light, it exploded into a thousand burning pieces. Jubilee shielded her face with her hands; Wolverine roared with frustration, then began to cough, evidently having inhaled sawdust. They heard the noise of boots moving quickly on the hardwood floor. When the smoke-and-mirrors cleared, Wolverine and Jubilee were alone. Gambit – and their money – were long gone.

_A/N: Ha ha. I did it. Jubilee has burst into song. Fall down and worship me! Or, failing that, please review. _


	5. American Woman

"Damn," Wolverine hissed.

Jubilee bent over, picked up a piece of the shattered table. Dynamite couldn't have done a more thorough job. "He was a mutant."

"What do I care if he was a mutant?!" Wolverine snapped, whirling on her. "He's got our damn money!" Growling with frustration, he turned again, stomping towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Jubilee yelled, trying not to panic. Wolverine had come this far with her, after all – despite his constant snarking about what a pain she was, he wouldn't ditch her now.

Would he?

"I'm going to talk to that damn barman."

"I'm going to go for a walk," Jubilee told him experimentally, hoping she'd be told it was much too dangerous and she had better stay right where she was.

"Do whatever the hell you want," Wolverine yelled from around the corner. From the barroom behind the door, there were some thumping noises and a cry of pain, indicating that Wolverine was not treating the bartender as an ideal tourist might. Jubilee, fighting back the sting in her cheekbones that was the sure precursor to tears and self-pity, opened the back door of the bar. Maybe a nice Cajun family would take her in. She could laugh and grow fat and marry an alligator.

Then Wolverine stuck his head back around the door, bartender dangling limply in one hand. "You meet me back here in an hour," he growled.

She couldn't help but smile. "Don't worry, GRANDPA," she assured him, faking annoyance, and all but skipped out.

It was getting dark outside, her third evening of solitude – well, duo-tude – with Wolverine. Things were looking up. Or Jubilee thought so, anyway. After all, looking down would have to mean the US Marines again; and pretty much any situation was superior to fox-and-goose with the Brotherhood. Her wandering wasn't really taking her anywhere in particular, which was almost a nice feeling; she kicked a broken piece of cement along the kerb. It was pleasantly novel to wander at random, not having to run, for once. Though, of course, who knew how long that state of affairs might last.

"Now, what's a nice young girl like you doin' in a place like dis?" asked an amused voice, and suddenly there was a man right behind her. Jubilee cursed herself doubly, whirling; first for not paying enough attention to notice someone sneaking up on her, and second, for attracting someone who'd try a line like that. She raised her hands to put all of her yellow-belt kung-fu skills to the test; Gambit, leaning on a walking stick, smiled down on her, amusement behind his red eyes.

She dropped her hands in surprise, blinking and blushing. "Gambit?"

"Hey," he said with roguish charm, and Jubilee could feel the butterflies mutating into their Paleolithic equivalent. "Your hairy friend still mad?"

"I think he's working over the bartender," Jubilee replied.

"Not like he didn't deserve it," Gambit chuckled. "Don't feel too badly about failing your good-luck duties, _ma petite_. If it hasn't been for my Queen of Hearts, well, who knows… you might have won."

"That would've been nice," said Jubilee. She kicked that bit of cement again and watched it clatter away into a sewer. "We needed the money."

"Really? What for, _mon bijou_?"

"We were on our way to Salem," Jubilee replied softly. "We…" she hesitated. "…Got mugged?"

Gambit was quick to scoff his disbelief. "I think your friend could have taken care of any muggers you encountered, _non_?" He said dryly. "In six separate steel ways, no less." He checked his watch. "I'm headed elsewhere, Jewel. Got a visit to make before I'm off again. Why don't you come with me, tell me de real story on the way? I'm curious, but de Gambit don't like lies."

Jubilee hesitated. Go with a gambling stranger carrying a built-in weapon? She'd just survived pursuit by the Brotherhood, near-drowning, and a jump from a boxcar. Jubilee really wasn't sure how much further she wanted to test her already questionable luck, she decided. Then Gambit cocked his head and smiled; a chestnut curl toppled over one eye. Jubilee felt her knees creak a little bit.

"Come on, _mon bijou_," he offered her an arm. "Trust me."

"I have to be back in an hour," warned Jubilee, with a blissful cessation of all other rational thought.

"Of course, _cherie_," Gambit said generously. "I take care of everything. Wolfy won't even notice we are gone."

_000_

They arrived at the townhouse on the outskirts of town – a shack again, more disreputable digs than Jubilee had ever seen before. Gambit eyed the door with some trepidation, hesitating. "Now, if she don't let us in," he warned Jubilee, "You and I gonna have to go beg a bone somewhere else. So do your good luck duties, Jewel."

He knocked on the door with his staff. "Jus' a minute," someone called. "Who is it?"

"Bella Donna? It's Remy, _chere_."

The door opened a crack, and then swung nearly off its hinges. A tall, buxom woman with huge quantities of blonde hair surveyed Gambit and Jubilee with austere disapproval. She held a wooden spoon in one hand; Jubilee tried to smile winningly, but her winning smile was growing a little threadbare.

"_Remy_ _Etienne Lebeau_," Bella Donna said, looking him up and down.

"My middle name isn't Etienne," Gambit mumbled. "_Mon dieu_, why does everyone think that? I never said that. Er… "

Bella Donna's eyes were narrower by the second; she did not look as though she wanted to argue nomenclature.

"Bella Donna, _m'amour_." Gambit attempted to smile, then; the look came out as threadbare as Jubilee's. He spread his arms with unconvincing enthusiasm. "De Gambit has returned!" Bella Donna seemed to consider this. Then she hit him, hard, on the arm with her wooden spoon. Gambit made a muffled noise of horror. "Bella, dis coat is dry clean – "

"You've got a lot of nerve coming back here," Bella Donna spat, tawny and snapping in her disapproval. She shifted her weight, looking him over again, just as disparagingly; then turned her amber-hard gaze onto Jubilee. "And what's this lot? New girlfriend?"

"'Course not," Gambit said, with huge amounts of dignity, considering that he now sported a spoon-shaped flour mark on one sleeve. "Dis is Miss Jubilee and she is lost and stranded and broke and… from the workhouse…" Bella Donna snorted; even Jubilee felt Gambit was laying it on a little thick. "And I dare say hungry," he finished. "Ain't ya?"

He raised an eyebrow at Jubilee in a way that suggested she dared not say otherwise, should she value her life; so she nodded vigorously, wondering if a timid little sneeze would be overdoing it.

Bella Donna looked her over again, taking in ragged clothing and stick-thin frame, and her eyes softened. "Well, come in, then," she graciously allowed. "I can't imagine what this good-for-nothing has got you up to, but thief hospitality ain't never been worth what I could spit. You get in here before you catch your death."

"It ain't cold out here, Bella," Gambit smiled.

The woman laughed shortly. "Well, knowing you, if she don't catch it of cold you'll help her catch it some other way." She hustled Jubilee over the threshold; then, when Gambit tried to follow, she blocked his path with her wooden spoon. He eyed the wooden implement warily.

"I let Miss Jubilee in," Bella Donna said with a grim smile. "I didn't say nothing 'bout you following her."

"Bella Donna,_ amour_ – " Gambit began.

Bella Donna made a wild motion with her spoon. "Don't you even start that. I'm impervious to your charm, Remy, unlike this bedraggled kitten of a Jubilee." Jubilee considered protesting this, but decided that she was too mortally terrified of the blonde force of destruction Bella Donna was rapidly proving to be. "Showin' up after god knows how long like something the cat drug in, thinking you welcome," Bella Donna grumbled. "I never seen such cheek."

Gambit dropped the charm, then, and looked like a bit of a lost puppy himself. "Bella, listen," he said quietly. "I ain't thinking to stay. I know I ain't welcome. But let me in for an hour, for old time's sake, before I have to up and leave again."

Bella Donna frowned.

"_Cis vous plait, Bella,_" he added, with such limpid, sad brown eyes that Jubilee felt inclined to melt into a puddle right there on Bella Donna's welcome mat.

"Oh… fine," Bella Donna snapped, standing aside to let Gambit follow Jubilee. "I must be crazy, letting you in here after what you done. Come in quick and don't you dare overstay your welcome." There was a low rumbling noise; Gambit and Bella Donna peered through the thick dust motes of Bella Donna's dim wooden hallway for the source. "What was that?" Bella Donna asked uncertainly.

"Um," said Jubilee, blushing. "I think it was my stomach."

Bella Donna looked horrified. "You serious, girl? What've you eaten?"

In answer, Jubilee's stomach rumbled again. "Tic tacs?"

Bella Donna's look was horrified and outraged, and Jubilee found herself swept onto a teetering wooden stool in the woman's old-fashioned kitchen as Bella Donna brushed back and forth, sweeping enormous quantities of blonde hair off her sloped shoulders, offering sidelong looks and a sarcastic running commentary, and positively stuffing Jubilee with food. Jubilee had to admit that she had genuinely hit the jackpot. She also had to admit to herself that, given her current track record of following strange men home, waking up in their cabins, accepting free food and drink from strangers and generally not Staying Alert and Staying Safe, she was pretty much every child psychologist's worst nightmare.

She liked Bella Donna, though, without quite knowing why; and especially liked her kitchen, because there wasn't a single piece of technology more modern than a gas range, and Jubilee felt almost free to touch and taste as she liked without worrying that she was about to do serious damage. After all, she still felt guilty about that police station; she wouldn't want to have to put herself through any agony by wrecking the property of someone she actually liked.

"You're skin and bones, _chere_." Bella Donna wrinkled her nose, pushing more dirty rice onto Jubilee's plate. "Got to fill you up."

Jubilee eyed Bella Donna's zaftig frame enviously; she'd always been stick-thin, no matter how much she ate. "I'm full," she moaned, laughing. "No thanks." Bella Donna seemed not to hear her. "Really, I can't eat anything else."

"Another drink, then," Bella Donna suggested, and rushed off in a flare of mother-duck yellow ponytail.

Gambit, leaning on his stick – which Jubilee had been corrected about, it wasn't a walking stick, it was apparently a "bo", whatever that was – was watching the scene with some amusement. "You've awakened some kind of primitive mothering instinct in her, _chere_," he decided. "Usually she's a shrew. She ain't never cooked like this for me, I'll tell you dat."

"That's because you a layabout good for nothing," Bella Donna shot back as she returned from the kitchen with a glass of sun tea for Jubilee. "You can worry 'bout your own ass. But bring home poor starved kittens, and I'll feed dem."

"I'm discoverin' dat," Gambit agreed.

"This kitten is rapidly expanding at the middle," Jubilee protested. She bent over, undoing the top button of her strangely tight skirt.

Bella Donna slapped her gently upside the head. "Don't you start that, girl. Remy Lebeau got a way of opening all those buttons once you start on one."

"I am deeply injured," Gambit groaned, putting a hand to his heart. "Bella, why you treat me dis way?"

"How about we talk about the way _you_ treated _me_?" Bella Donna snapped, whirling on Gambit. Jubilee, mouth full of sweet tea, noticed that Gambit had dropped his gaze. The room seemed a little colder. Jubilee hugged her duffle bag to her stomach; they were suddenly all walking on dangerous ground.

"Maybe we should talk about Jubilee," Gambit suggested finally, with a strained smile. "You said you found yourself in need of money, _cherie_?"

"Yeah," agreed Jubilee, happy to break the awkward silence.

"What for, _petite_?"

"We're on our way to Salem," Jubilee replied, resting her elbows on Bella Donna's scarred wooden counter. "But our last transportation… didn't quite work out. So now we really are ten kinds of stranded and broke."

"We?" Bella Donna questioned.

"Miss Jubilee's traveling companion," Gambit explained to her, "Is a five-foot wrecking ball trucker, near as anyone can tell. He tragically was unable to make it to dis dinner." He turned his gaze back to Jubilee. "I won't ask 'bout your 'transportation'. We're all entitled to our secrets."

Gambit leaned against the wall, folding his arms in front of him. "Salem, _tu parle_? I happen to be on de way to Salem myself, _chere_. Maybe you're wanting a ride?"

Jubilee's jaw dropped. "You're joking."

"I'm completely serious."

"Why are you going to Salem?"

"I'd like to ask him the same question," Bella Donna agreed a bit grimly, setting her hands on her wide hips. 

"Did I ask you?" Gambit countered Jubilee, ignoring Bella Donna's steely glare.

Jubilee snorted. "Oh, that's convincing. Look, if you want me to believe you..."

Gambit shrugged. "Fine, _petite_, be dat way. Bella Donna's maybe rubbed off on you, _non_? But de Gambit, he has nothing to hide." He spread his arms, smiling into a gesture of grandiose magnificence. "It just so happens I've had a… very interestin' job offer from Xavier's Academy. Real hush-hush, like. Don't think I'm supposed to provide details." He realized Jubilee was staring at him. "What?" he said defensively.

"Tell you what," Bella Donna scoffed. "We'll see how fast you get hired and fired from that kinda job. Remy, you never been the type for honest work."

"Wasn't talkin' to you. The question," Gambit said with great dignity, "Was posed to my Jewel."

"It's nothing," Jubilee replied, with a slight smile. She felt dazed by her good fortune. "I was just thinking… maybe I'm Lady Luck after all."

"Maybe so," Gambit agreed generously. "Does dat mean you comin'?"

Jubilee thought about it. "You'll have to give Wolverine back the money," she warned him. "At least the five hundred."

Bella Donna broke into harsh laughter. "I knew there'd be someone owing something somewhere, I listened long enough."

"Circumstances are everything, Bella," Gambit said patiently, although Jubilee felt that the circumstances did not shine too favorably upon Gambit. "Wolverine? Dat your hairy friend?"

Jubilee nodded.

"I never could resist de ladies," Gambit mused, cupping his chin and looking from Bella Donna to Jubilee as though he suspected them of being covertly in league. "Five hundred! No more. You'll rob me blind, but dere's honor amongst us thieves."

Jubilee gulped. "How did you – "

"Takes one to know one, chere," Gambit smiled back at her, pressing a gentle finger to her lips so that she couldn't finish the sentence.

"Hey!" Bella Donna yelled, swatting his hand down. "I'm warning you once, Mister Lebeau. No bodily contact! Girl may or may not be a thief, I don't care. She don't look half thirteen."

"JUBILATION LEE!" 

The bellow came from outside, louder than even Jubilee's stomach. Gambit and Bella Donna both jumped; the latter then eyed Jubilee, who had also flinched, rather accusingly.

"Friend of yours?" she snipped. "Okay, I had enough. You been fed. Out." She began hustling them towards the door, utilizing the spoon when they weren't moving fast enough. "The pair of you! Out. I don't even want to know what that damn noise is. I ain't getting involved."

They were being shunted through the hall. "Pleasure was mine, Jubilee. And it was lovely, Remy -- " she pushed them onto the stoop – "Just don' dare show your face around here again!" Bella Donna finished primly, and slammed the door.

Wolverine was waiting with his arms folded and six claws stuck out for good measure. Jubilee winced a little.

"Back in an hour?" he scoffed. "Do you know how long you've been gone? I've been sniffing every trail in the city for you!"

Jubilee, perhaps a little full of Bella Donna's fire as well as her cooking, suddenly felt more angry than afraid of Wolverine. "Cool your jets, DAD." She began. "I'm not some – "

Then, however, Wolverine apparently noticed Gambit; the sight was enough to inspire him into recommencing his bellow. "_You_!" he howled, as Jubilee winced and clapped hands over her ears. "What the HELL are YOU doing here? I'm going to slice you into jambalaya!" 

"WOLVERINE!" Jubilee shrieked then, sharp enough that he fell silent, before this could go farther. "I said COOL your JETS! He offered us a ride!"

That was enough to bring the claws back in, for the moment, anyway. "A ride where?" Wolverine deigned, bristling with caution.

"Right to Xavier's," Jubilee replied.

"On a cold day in hell," Wolverine scoffed immediately. "Jubilee, get over here. We don't need this damn Cajun. We'll – "

"How the hell else are we going to get there, Wolverine?!" Jubilee could feel a pink flush beginning to rise up her chest. She was sick to death of all this macho posturing. "He offered us help. What are you proving by being too proud to take it?"

Wolverine hesitated, to her immense relief; he apparently seemed to think that she had a point.

"I'll give you back the five hundred," Gambit offered, in a tone that suggested it would be a kind gift on his part, not simply what he owed.

"It's only to Salem," Jubilee offered feebly, clutching her back to her chest.

Wolverine spared a second to glower at her, Gambit, Bella Donna's house, the world in general. Then – "What kind of a car do you have?" he growled at Gambit.

"A convertible, of course," Gambit said smoothly, squeezing Jubilee's shoulder a little bit. Mutant butterflies again attacked her stomach with wild, kamikaze abandon.

"Fine," Wolverine snarled finally, sounding as though it really did kill him to say it. He paused. "I'm driving."

"I don't think so," Gambit replied.

"Well…" Wolverine shrugged. "Shotgun."

_A/N: I've gotten some lovely and genuinely thoughtful reviews. Thank you so much! I really do appreciate the time you put into offering your thoughts._


	6. Cold Comfort

Jubilee had always teased her parents, while they were alive, about their huge LA four-story. A mansion, she had called it. When Gambit parked before Xavier's Academy, however, Jubilee suddenly realized that she had never seen a real mansion. It was grandiose and ancient -- both the original house and the additions done in an austere, Puritan style – and, in contrast, Jubilee found herself feeling shy and lacking. She glanced at Wolverine as they walked up the school's marble steps; he smiled back in a way she supposed was meant to be assuring, and buzzed at the front door.

Wolverine had gotten quieter and quieter as they approached the school, but he didn't seem upset. He'd even bought Jubilee a coat on the way, when she complained of the New England cold -- Gambit had offered his first, of course, but it dragged on the ground behind Jubilee a good two feet. Her new jacket was enormous, fluffy and yellow, but Jubilee was genuinely touched by the gesture. Now, however, Wolverine's newfound benevolence was no comfort; she hugged the yellow coat tighter around her, feeling quite alone. Some consolation was that Gambit also looked decidedly wary. He had been chain-smoking since they parked, and now stubbed out a butt with the toe of his boot, pushing his hands into his pockets.

The door's buzzer sounded and it swung open, untouched; waiting for them on a red rug in the hardwood lobby was a tall and very beautiful black woman, with a regal bearing and streaming ivory hair. "Wolverine, you're back!" she called, breaking into an elegant smile, and strode as quickly as decorum allowed to the door.

Wolverine himself covered the rest of the distance, and gingerly allowed himself to be hugged. "Hey, Storm," he said gruffly. "Yeah. Back or something like it."

Storm peered over his shoulder as she released him. "And you brought friends," she added, with a reassuring smile for Jubilee.

"This is Jubilation Lee," he agreed, gently pushing her closer to Storm. "I'll… explain about her later. And the red-eye flight here is Gambit."

"I can introduce myself," Gambit said, stepping over the threshold. "It's Remy Lebeau, _belle. Enchante_." He went to kiss Storm's hand; she promptly pulled back, and he transitioned seamlessly into a bow.

"What brings you here, Mister Lebeau?" Storm inquired coolly, not sounding entirely as though she approved.

"He says – " Wolverine began.

Gambit cut him off again. "Can also _speak_ for myself, _mon ami_. And will, come to dat." He turned to Storm and spoke, ignoring Wolverine. "I was invited up for a visit by a Charles Xavier. Something about a job, actually." His smile charmed warmth into Ororo's hard brown eyes; his voice adopted a low, velvety register that made Jubilee sick with jealousy. "Can I assume you'd be a co-worker?"

Storm stared at him, then giggled abruptly in a way even Jubilee could tell was totally unlike her.

"Ororo!" Wolverine barked, putting a hand to his temple. "God! What's gotten into all you dames?"

Storm jumped, then her ebony skin flushed a deep rose with embarrassment. "I – I apologize, Wolverine," she stammered, attempting to collect herself. "Ah – Miss Jubilee," she smiled at Jubilee hastily, a bit too eager to move on. "If you can wait here briefly, I'll have a student up to show you around."

"I'm only _looking_ at the school," Jubilee told her cautiously. "Haven't signed anything yet."

"Of course." Storm's smile was like that of some mother-goddess; Jubilee warmed to her instinctively as the woman turned to Gambit. "Professor Xavier is free, so you may come with me."

"Hey!" Wolverine grated, looking injured. "Hold on a second. Why's he going first?"

Ororo opened her mouth to respond, but Gambit raised an easy hand, cut her off. "It's fine," he said smoothly. "Let de hairy one go first, Stormy. I'll just do some exploring."

"When you put it that way," Wolverine grumbled, "Storm, he can go."

"Oh, dat won't be necessary." Gambit was grinning now; Storm, already wise to his game, rolled her eyes a little. "I think I saw some students outside, _non_? I'll just go… mix and mingle."

There was suddenly a noise of dull thuds against the rose-papered walls, the mahogany-raftered roof. "Unfortunately," Storm said with a calm, elegant smile, "That will be impossible."

"Impossible," Gambit echoed her, his face unreadable as he glanced around for the source of the noise.

"It's hailing quite heavily," Storm explained, still smiling.

"Hailing?" said Gambit, as several students dashed through the doors. "It's de middle of July."

"How unusual," Storm said. "Well, since that's been ruled out, perhaps you won't mind following me this way."

"Of course," Gambit agreed uneasily, watching one student shake hailstones from her long green hair.

"Professor Xavier will call on you when he's done with Gambit," Storm told Wolverine.

"Done with me?" Gambit interrupted, apparently taking issue with Ororo's phrasing, but she simply smiled that disarming, queenly smile and set off down the hall, leaving Gambit with no choice but to follow her. Jubilee watched Gambit walk the parquet floor until the pair vanished behind a door and out of sight. She hadn't liked the way Storm had put that, either, and hoped Gambit would be careful. Maybe it was the hail, but she wasn't feeling at all at home here.

"Should have made him leave that damn stick," Wolverine grumbled.

"It's a _bo_," Jubilee corrected absently.

He glanced at Jubilee. "What's a _bo_?"

"That's what I said."

"Right," Wolverine said, scratching his hairy chest absently. He paused, seemed lost in thought.

Jubilee poked his shoulder. "Earth to Wolverine?"

"Oh." He started, then glanced down at her, saying abruptly, "You gonna be okay here for a minute, Jubes? There's a doctor downstairs I'm itching to see."

"Well, you go scratch that itch, then," Jubilee said, shrugging. "I'll be fine. You seem to forget I was a street kid. Capable of looking after myself for five minutes unattended."

Wolverine shot her a taut smile, and then disappeared down the lobby stairwell, taking the steps by eager twos. Jubilee sighed, sitting on an overstuffed armchair in the lobby and clutching her increasingly dirty duffle bag to her stomach. Maybe it was the fangs, but a smiling Wolverine didn't really comfort her either.

She looked around; the students Storm's snow had driven inside were disappearing down the hall, laughing about something the green-haired girl had said. Suddenly a blonde teen ducked in the front door, and, realizing the group had taken off without him, he sighed in frustration – then glanced at Jubilee. Raising a mischievous finger to his lips for silence, his eyes went cloudy with concentration. Nothing happened, for a second; then the male companion of the green-haired girl went down on what was apparently a patch of ice on the hardwood, cursing loudly as he made a magnificent four-point landing.

The blonde boy laughed, winked at Jubilee, and took off down the hallway to catch up with his cursing friends, leaving Jubilee feeling lonelier than ever. Was it her imagination, or had he left the room that much colder? "It's freezing," She griped, hugging her new yellow coat tighter around herself.

"Yeah, Bobby does that," said a bright voice, and a freckled, curly-headed girl emerged from the hallway Gambit and Storm had disappeared down. Her strut marked her immediately as a Popular Girl – all schools had them, Jubilee supposed, and apparently Xavier's Academy was no exception. Just one more thing Jubilee _really_ didn't miss about high school. She looked Jubilee up and down. "You're Jubilee, right?" She took in all of Jubilee at once, with a wide, appraising blue eye. "Nice coat."

"It's… uh… Wolverine gave it to me," Jubilee offered lamely, not sure whether she'd been insulted or not.

"_Mazel tov_. I'm Kitty Pryde." She paused, then said in a voice so dramatic that Jubilee couldn't possibly take it seriously, "AKA, _Shadowcat_."

"Shadowcat." Jubilee echoed, trying not to giggle -- that would be no way to make friends. Assuming, she reminded herself, that she _wanted _to make friends. "I take it a crazy superhero moniker is… like… a prerequisite at this school?" A thin laugh escaped her, despite her best efforts. "Like part of the uniform?"

"Well, then, you'll fit right in here, won't you?" Shadowcat snapped, standing up a little straighter. "'Jubilee's not exactly topping the lists of popular baby names." She smirked. "Unless you're gonna say Wolverine gave you THAT, too."

Jubilee opened her mouth to reply and then closed it. Ironically, of course, Wolverine _had_ given her the nickname; though she couldn't possibly say that, it was the stupidest of all stupid retorts.

"Come on," Shadowcat said graciously, apparently kinder when she thought she'd had the final word. "I'll show you around the classrooms."

She took off at a run – straight through a wall. Jubilee, left behind, could only gape after her in amazement. A second later, Kitty's head and shoulder re-emerged. "Sorry," she said with a penitent little smile, although she didn't sound sorry at all.

"Uh," said Jubilee uncertainly, "That's okay. I guess."

"You can take that door right there," Shadowcat grinned, before vanishing again.

Jubilee stared at her a second longer, then, with a little sigh, she turned on her heel and instead took the same staircase Wolverine had descended. Really, she didn't have to take this crap from some stub-nosed snot. She was, she decided, going to give Wolverine what's what for leaving her up here. Solitude, Jubilee could cope with. Cheerleaders? Not so much.

000

Ororo had left Gambit in Xavier's richly decorated office at least ten minutes ago. Not only was Gambit growing tired of waiting, he was developing decidedly sticky fingers; at present he was curiously examining a Renoir on the wall. He was pretty sure the painting was genuine, and had to force himself to sit down again in the armchair facing the desk, whistling a forcedly casual Zydeco. This was a matter of business, not pleasure, he reminded himself, putting his feet up on Xavier's mahogany desk.

And, if this whole job offer thing didn't quite pan out, there was plenty of time to make good on this luxury later.

_If you do not immediately remove your feet from my desk, Mr. LeBeau, you may find them removing themselves of their own volition._

Gambit – forcing himself not to jump, and not entirely succeeding – looked around for the source of the voice and didn't find it. Ever-so-slowly, he swung his feet back to the floor.

Not a good first impression, all things considered.

The voice's source wheeled in a second later. Charles Xavier was bald, and consigned to a wheelchair, but despite that there was obvious strength in his thin frame; Gambit didn't have the nerve to doubt the Purple Heart that hung behind Xavier's desk. Wheeling to his place behind said desk, Xavier favored Gambit with a friendly, if slightly tight, smile. "Mister Lebeau. I'm Charles Xavier. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said cordially. "I'd begun to doubt whether you'd be making an arrival at all."

"Well, for dat matter," Gambit said, letting a slightly cocky grin play across his face – although he was barely feeling cocky, still decidedly thrown -- "So did I. But den your little Jewel fell into my lap, begging a ride right to Salem. If that isn't the voice of Lady Luck whispering in your ear, _monsieur_, I don't know what is."

A slight frown creased Xavier's brow; his eyes unfocussed, and he looked very far away for a second. Then he snapped back abruptly. "Ah, yes," he said. "Jubilation Lee?... Thank you for your assistance in precipitating her safe arrival."

"It was my pleasure," Gambit said with a slight shrug. Xavier had an affluent New England accent; it made Gambit quite conscious of his own Yat, which he was defiantly proud of. "And maybe I take her away again, too, if she don' wanna stay. Girl's good company. Better than your man."

"Take her away to where, precisely?" Xavier asked coolly, as Gambit began rooting in a trenchcoat pocket for his cigarette. He was sure he had another one somewhere. "Back to New Orleans? Or did you have something a little more radical in mind? The Brotherhood, perhaps?"

Gambit's hand froze, still stuck in his pocket, and he involuntarily darted a look at Xavier's impassive face. "You, uh…" he cleared his throat. "You know 'bout how dat went down, huh?"

"Indeed, Mr. LeBeau," Xavier said dryly. "I would hardly have invited you here to represent my school if I hadn't done a most thorough background check first. I am quite aware of your past relations with the Thieves' Guild, the Brotherhood… any number of, apparently, myriad past associations of an unpleasant nature."

"Right," said Gambit, appalled to find he was both embarrassed and pissed off. God, he needed that coffin nail. He rose from the table. "Well, no point dragging dis exit interview out den, is there? Since I never properly even got hired. Be seeing you."

Xavier quickly shook his head. "I wouldn't have invited you here if I didn't have reason to believe you'd rehabilitated yourself."

Gambit smirked, then, despite himself. Some telepath.

Xavier didn't seem to notice. He only continued, "My offer still stands. I believe you have much to offer my team." He smiled again, and gestured graciously at Gambit's vacated chair. "If you'll just have a seat, Mr. LeBeau," he said patiently, "Then I can summarize, briefly, what I believe my team can offer _you._"

000

Jubilee had found a doctor's office, yes, but it was Wolverine-free. In fact, it seemed totally empty. She meant to leave at once; touching medical equipment was probably the least effective way to make herself welcome at this school. Then she noticed a stethoscope. Jubilee didn't have a stethoscope. And didn't think she could break one – no mechanized parts, right? And she had a nice, stethoscope-shaped vacancy in her bag.

"This is a serious and disturbing reaction to stressful stimuli," she admitted to herself in a grave, mock-doctor's whisper as she donned the stethoscope and examined her reflection critically in a reflective vat of… something. "Especially since young female kleptomaniacs have a disconcerting habit of attracting older, Cajun, male kleptomaniacs!" She posed dramatically in the "mirror", trying not to grin. "Why yes, Gambit, I'd love to embark on a life of crime with you! We can steal the stethoscopes of the nation!"

"Unless this 'Gambit' is a telepath," a wry voice said from behind her, "I don't think he can hear you."

Jubilee gulped, whirling. A woman in a white labcoat, with long blonde hair, was watching Jubilee's makeshift soap opera.

"_Jubilee!"_ someone wailed, far away from the lab. _"Please come back! Storm said I had to keep an eye on you!"_

"I, uh, gave Hello Kitty the slip," Jubilee told the woman in white awkwardly, not really sure what to say and settling on the truth.

The blonde woman smiled a little at that, which relieved the younger girl to no end. "That, I can completely appreciate. Miss Pryde grates on the finest of nerves. Which mine, admittedly, are not. Now then -- not to be too blunt about it -- but who are you and what, exactly, are you doing here? And," she finished, with a dubious, elegant lift of an eyebrow, "Why, exactly, are you wearing my stethoscope?"

"I'm – um – my name's Jubilee," Jubilee said, and didn't realize until she'd said it that she'd given Wolverine's nickname, not her full name. "I guess I'm – kinda a guest. Wolverine brought me. He told me he wanted to go see a doctor… are you? – "

The blonde rolled her eyes. "Thankfully, no. Wolverine's admittedly persistent attentions are fixed on my unfortunate colleague Miss Grey. Better her than me, I suppose. There but for the grace of god, and so on." She took a step towards Jubilee, who nervously jumped back – towards a computer she just barely missed, in fact. The blonde rolled her eyes, walking right past her further into the office. "Oh, for heaven's sake, do dispose of the theatrics. I'm hardly going to hurt you. In fact, I was about to make some coffee, and was even considering offering you a cup. Consider it a genuine Emma Frost welcome." She raised an expectant eyebrow; Jubilee smiled back, a little feebly. "That's what I thought. Have a seat. And don't touch anything."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Jubilee agreed, knowing Frost couldn't possibly realize how very vital it was that Jubilee did keep her hands to herself.

"Good," said Emma Frost shortly. She poured water from the sink into a beaker, taking down a canister of ground Starbucks from the shelf. Jubilee watched her uncertainly as she set it up to boil over a Bunsen burner.

"Don't worry," she responded, dryly, to Jubilee's unasked question. "I use this particular flask only for coffee. I won't accidentally saddle you with ten extra mutations. Most of you children are having enough trouble dealing with the one."

"Oh," Jubilee said uncertainly, trying to figure out how she'd managed to offend this woman without saying a single word. "Okay."

Emma made the coffee in silence; Jubilee watched her, trying to contain her jealousy – Bella Donna, Storm, and now the blonde and too beautiful to be believed Frost. This trip had been one impossibly beautiful woman after another. They all looked as though some artist had dreamed them, and Jubilee felt more self-conscious than ever about her stick-straight hair and chicken legs. "Here," Emma said abruptly, pushing a mug of hot coffee in Jubilee's hands; not instant, and no whiskey, which was certainly an improvement on last time. Well, taste-wise, anyway. Jubilee still wasn't convinced that the company was as good.

"So tell me, Jubilee. You're a guest of my dear Wolverine. Any reason in particular?" Emma asked, eyes closed as she savored a sip of her coffee. "Wolverine may or may not pick up any number of young ladies on the road, but to the best of my knowledge, he doesn't usually bring them home to meet the parents."

"He – wanted me to check out the school," Jubilee said uncertainly.

"Hmm," said Emma. "And what, if you don't mind my asking, is the ability that qualifies you in particular for one of Charles' coveted tuition waivers?"

"I can't really.… um… it's like, wonky fireworks," Jubilee began, but Emma cut her off.

"Why don't you just show me? A picture's worth a thousand words, and I'm a rather busy woman."

Jubilee looked around the office. She was fenced in on all sides by delicate equipment, like a piece of cheese in a mousetrap. "I really don't think that's a good idea."

"Well, suit yourself," Frost said, and took a final sip of her coffee, standing up. "Lovely as this conversation has been, I'm quite busy, as I mentioned. Why don't you run along, now? Miss Pryde, I'm sure, is bellowing herself hoarse."

Was she actually being told to leave? Jubilee rose, feeling a little stung. Wasn't the idea that these people were supposed to be making her feel welcome? "Yeah, sure," she muttered. "See you around."

"Possibly," said Frost, not even turning to look at her as she left.

Jubilee never quite knew what had happened, or which part of her brushed it. Her bare calf. The back of her hand. But three steps from the door of the office, she made the – slightest – contact with the large, humming hard drive of the computer she'd ended up beside. The wreckage was immediate and devastating -- a shower of sparkling light, blue and purple -- a hissing noise like a slap. Emma jumped to her feet, surveyed the damage with obvious distress, and then turned her ice-angry gaze on Jubilee.

"You -- _clumsy_ – girl!" she hissed, obviously trying very hard to contain herself. She strode in short, powerful strides to the hard drive, tried to reboot it and to turn it on, but it was quite obviously ruined. She pointed one manicured nail at Jubilee accusingly, who flinched. "Do you have any idea… at all… of the value of what you destroyed?"

Tears were rising in Jubilee's eyes. "I didn't mean to."

"No wonder Storm assigned you a keeper!"

"I'm – I'm sorry," was all she could think to say.

"Does that really matter?" Frost snapped, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I'm sorry," Jubilee whispered, really crying now.

"That won't bring my work back," Emma spat. "Get out of my sight."

Jubilee did so, as quickly as she could; still crying, bag clutched protectively, uselessly, over her stomach. She could hear Emma's heels clicking on the tiles, still feel that frosty gaze digging into her, the look itself an accusation. Wolverine had been stupid to think she'd fit in here. She had been stupid to believe him.

And, when she ran out those mahogany front doors, nobody tried to stop here.

_A/N: From Gambit meeting Xavier onward there was a very large hole in my original script; I'm not sure where those papers went, wish I still had them. Anyway, hope I was able to fill in the hole convincingly from memory, which is admittedly slightly foggy. ;; Script resumes next chapter._


	7. The Night

_A/N: This scene marks the End Of Act One/Intermission in the play. I only ever wrote about four lines of Act Two, meaning that updates until the end of the story will no longer continue at this insane, speed-freak intensity; yes, there will now be BREAKS between updates. ;;_

_  
This also the first scene I wrote, and the one that gave me inspiration to write the rest of _Lights In The Dark_. Just a fast fact. -- Ami_

The grounds of Xavier's estate were just as lovely as the main building itself. Jubilee ran down gravel paths neatly lined with clamshells, crying, determined to leave Xavier's property entirely, hitchhike right back to Cajun country and leave this whole mess behind. But her tears and strength ran out long before Xavier's property did. Finally, bewildered and tired, Jubilee settled against a gardening shed on a grassy knoll, beside a bed of white magnolias. She couldn't see a boundary to Xavier's property, but from where she was – hidden against the shed – she couldn't see the mansion, either. Hopefully that meant that his people wouldn't be able to find her; for a while, anyway. Jubilee wanted to be alone.

She wondered if they'd want her to pay for the computer; probably. Emma Frost hadn't seemed the forgiving type. But Wolverine would get it, right? He knew what the deal was with Jubilee's powers. He'd argue her case. _If_ he wasn't too busy chasing Doctor Grey's skirt. Whoever the hell Doctor Grey was. Assuming Doctor Grey even _wore_ a skirt. Jubilee laughed, despite herself, and – spitting onto an old Kleenex in her jacket pocket – scrunched her nose, rubbing the salt streaks from her face. This ridiculous crying thing was becoming a habit. She should be more like Wolverine – bits of him, anyway. Jubilee admired his stoicism, but she wouldn't want to be that hairy.

Night, Jubilee realized at length, was beginning to fall. She was going to have to make a decision soon -- head back to the school, or somehow spend the night in the garden. Neither option was overly appealing. Jubilee shifted where she sat; the grass was damp from Storm's melted hail, and no longer really comfortable, and it was getting colder, too. She hugged her yellow coat close to her lean body, shivering. With gardens this extensive, you'd think Xavier could afford to have them at least partially heated. Didn't he keep any fire-mutants around? A nice lava mutant-student, perhaps, in need of a part-time job?

Jubilee trailed flickering lights from the tips of her fingers, admiring the way they lit up the darkness. "Stupid powers," she mumbled, half-fondly, changing the light's color at whim – buttercup yellow, the burnt-crimson red of Gambit's eyes, a shade of delicate periwinkle blue her mother had always been fond of. But thoughts of her mother just sent Jubilee deeper into despair. She slouched against the shed, her fireworks dying to halfhearted pinpricks.

Yeah, her powers were pretty. So what? They'd ruined her life. They'd gotten her parents killed. Jubilee missed the elder Lees with an intensity she had once only dreamed possible. What else had her powers done? Oh, yeah, they'd put her on the run, through no real fault of her own. And caused, lest she forget, millions of dollars of property damage. Not only in that police station, but here, in the one place Wolverine had assured she had nothing to fear. _Now_ where was Jubilee supposed to go? She had no money and couldn't possibly replace Frost's computer.

Which meant, essentially, that Jubilee had just burnt her last bridge. In a shower of pretty purple sparks, but still. She literally had nowhere else to run. Nowhere to be safe.

"You know," she said out loud, "If there's… anything out there listening… you could give me a break for once. Just the one. I'll take care of the rest." She listened. Nothing. Then –

"Is dat my shining Jewel I hear?"

For a crazy second Jubilee thought it was actually an angel or something. That someone really _had_ heard her. Then her rational mind reminded her that angels were most unlikely to have Cajun accents and, a second later, Gambit emerged, half-smiling, into the lean light of the fireworks at her fingers.

"Gambit!" her voice was too excited; she tried to play it down, sound cool. "You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were, like, god."

Gambit chuckled. "Dat's higher expectations than de Gambit's used to," he said wryly, climbing the knoll to sit beside her. "'Dough I'm touched by your faith in me." He leaned back against the shed, looking at Jubilee. He was so close to her that their legs touched; Jubilee watched in horror as pink lights sparkled around them, much too brightly. It was just her nerves. She hadn't meant to do that.

Gambit watched the light show, smiling as she blushed and hastily toned it down. "So you are a mutant after all," he said thoughtfully. "You been holding out on me, Jewel. Figured you must be, but you played your cards so close to your chest, I been forced to wonder. You going to grow into a wicked tease."

"Huh?" Jubilee said, thinking back. She'd told Gambit she needed a ride here; but he was right, she'd never actually _showed_ him her powers. She hadn't realized. "Oh, sorry. I wasn't – you know, like, hiding them. I just never really thought about it."

Gambit chuckled. "Show me again, den," he ordered, and Jubilee shyly brushed blue light across the grass. It reflected in Gambit's red eyes, so she couldn't see his expression. "Dat's nice to see," he said thoughtfully. "I keep running into mutants whose powers are, you know, turn into blue flying people-eaters, bones protruding out their skin in fancy shapes."

"Ew," Jubilee decided.

"True dat," Gambit nodded vigorously. "Nice to finally see a girl whose power is… you know… somethin' nice. Fireworks," he said softly. His leg touched hers again. Jubilee could feel her heart pounding. "Suits you."

"Oh, it's a pain in the ass, it's not just pretty lights," Jubilee assured him, glad for the distraction and trying not to speak too quickly. She turned the light red, hoping it would hide her blush. "I touch technology – any at all -- wham bam alakazam, it's dead." She hesitated, then mumbled, "I may have… sorta kinda broken a couple computers back there." She glanced at him. "You think this place is 'you break it, you buy it'?"

"Dunno," Gambit said, pushing back his chestnut curls. Jubilee peered curiously at the body armor that framed his face – it was much more noticeable, with his hair pulled back, and seemed too cautious for the clearly reckless Gambit. "Reminds me, Jewel. How was your tour?"

She snorted, looking away abruptly. "Don't ask." But that reminded her, in turn. "Hey, what about your… job interview?"

"Pretty much de same," Gambit admitted. Jubilee sighed; Gambit, however, laughed, though it was strained. "We a fine pair, huh? Thick as thieves and not wanted anywhere." 

"Did you break anything? No? I win."

"So what you think, then?" Gambit glanced at her. "You planning to stay here?"

"I don't even know if they'd let me, anymore. You?"

"Dunno, _chere_."

Jubilee remembered Ororo, and felt abruptly jealous. "What about Storm?" she asked, trying to sound casual. "You seemed to really like her."

Gambit chuckled. "I was just being polite, _cherie_," he said coyly, winking at her. "Can't be easy, white hair at her age. Wanted to brighten her day. De Gambit, thankfully, remains footloose and fancy-free."

"What about Bella Donna? You guys aren't… you know… involved?"

"Old girlfriend," Gambit muttered, not looking at Jubilee. There was real pain, old but potent, in his voice. "She… we were together, yeah."

"Bad breakup?" Jubilee guessed.

"Oh, _mon bijou_," Gambit said, and his eyes were so deep in shadow that they matched his haunted tone, "You have no idea."

A second later, thought, Gambit seemed to realize he had turned the conversation too serious. He laughed at himself, turning back to Jubilee. "It too bad more girls ain't like you, Jewel. Hold deir own around a _garcon_ without falling head over heels. De Gambit, he don't know what to do wit all these stolen hearts." He snorted. "Maybe I hold a garage sale."

Jubilee smacked him lightly on the sleeve of his trenchcoat, relieved. "That's a terrible thing to say."

"Hey," Gambit said, laughing as well, "Bella Donna, you heard her, she say Remy got to make honest money. But I'm speaking truth, _bijou_. You a smarter girl than the rest, you'd make a good thief." Jubilee was blushing more and more intensely. She looked away, not trusting herself to speak. "An' no matter what trouble dey cause," Gambit said firmly, "I think your powers are beautiful."

He touched her gently on the hand. All Jubilee's butterflies up to this point had been nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to what she was feeling now. She couldn't draw a deep breath; the stars were twinkling in a way she had previously associated with too much whiskey._ Just tell him, already, you pathetic… teenage girl! _"Gambit –" she squeaked, cleared her throat, and tried again. "I mean – Remy –"

"Shh, _chere_," he whispered.

_Ohmyholygodhe'sgoingtokissme._ Jubilee was no Don Juan-ette – before meeting Gambit, she'd still been gradually recovering from the notion that all boys had cooties -- but she knew a line like that, and closed her eyes. 

The kiss never came. Jubilee opened one eye, confused, then both – Gambit wasn't even looking at her, but had his head cocked away, seemed to be scanning the bushes for something. His face was drawn and tense. "Gambit?" she questioned; he raised a gloved hand.

"Sh, _chere_," he shushed her again, and continued to scan the bushes.

She obeyed the "sh" for as long as she could stand, then hissed, "What's the matter?"

"You hear something?"

Jubilee listened. She heard several somethings; crickets chirping, the slight Salem breeze, Gambit himself, close to her. But Gambit was right. There was an undercurrent of – something – below all that. Something tense and still. Something _too_ quiet.

"Get up," Gambit ordered her, in a voice that was much too calm. She stood uncertainly. "Go back to de mansion. Walk, don' run. Understand?" 

Jubilee didn't have a chance to answer, because the "something" she could barely even hear suddenly screamed "NOW!"

Soldiers poured out of the bushes. Five, ten, twenty – it was impossible to tell in the dark. They were no longer dressed like Marines – more like a SWAT team – and they made, not for Gambit, but Jubilee. She didn't have a chance to move, a chance to think.

The Brotherhood.

Jubilee screamed as they came at her, no mercy behind their black masks, but Gambit was in their path before the sound had even come out of her mouth -- protecting her, beating them back.

"Run!" he cried, but they were surrounded, there was nowhere to run. Gambit didn't even have his bo.

"Use your powers!" Jubilee yelled back.

"On what, exactly?" Gambit snapped, and it was true, there wasn't exactly a convenient table this time.

Weaponless, in desperation, Remy grabbed a wooden gardening dowel leaning against the side of the shed. He went to work on the soldiers with brutal, speechless intensity, not even deigning to make his usual one-liners, forcing himself between Jubilee and her masked attackers. In the silence there was only the thud of quick footsteps, an occasional grunt of pain from either side, the whistle of the dowel whipping through the dark.

Jubilee realized, however – with sudden horror – that Gambit was tiring. He was a match for one of the soldiers, or even two, but Jubilee had counted at least seven soldiers and there were more lurking, masked in the dark, waiting for Gambit's inevitable defeat from sheer exhaustion.

"Use your powers!" she shrieked again. He couldn't possibly carry on like this.

Gambit seemed to agree, now; he dug in his pockets desperately, came up with something, and suddenly thin projectiles of burning light shattered the darkness like ninja stars. Jubilee squinted against the sudden radiance, not sure what Gambit was throwing until one projectile burnt itself out dangerously near to her feet; she bent and picked it up.

The Ace of Spades. Playing cards. Jubilee began to laugh in her panic. Cards were effective, of course – anything was effective, when it exploded in your face – but it was just too sad, too ironic, like a bad joke. Like he thought this was some kind of game.

Before her frenzied laugh came into being, however, it was smothered by a gloved hand that clamped over Jubilee's mouth. It – he, for the hand belonged to a soldier -- was choking her, dragging her silently, mercilessly backwards. Jubilee flailed and kicked uselessly, watching colored light spout from her fingertips and help in absolutely no way whatsoever, useless beauty hovering over the brutal violence, burning out above the beautiful flowers of Xavier's lovely garden.

Above the relentless leather-gloved hand, Jubilee helplessly watched Gambit's slow downfall, magnificent and awful as a train wreck; the makeshift staff was torn from his grasp, his deck of cards spilled over the neat gravel path. In the shifting light of her powers – lemon, rose, lavender-blue – Jubilee could see blood running down his cheek, beginning to mar his flawless face. One eye was already swollen shut.

Frantic, Jubilee used the only other trick she possessed, and this time it worked. She bit the gloved hand in her mouth, could hear the soldier's muffled curse, but he didn't retaliate. _They must have been told not to hurt me. _

"GAMBIT, HELP ME!" she screamed, and his head snapped up, and only then did his one good eye realize that she was being dragged away.

"Jubilee!" he yelled desperately. All his distraction did was earn a punch to the stomach.

"Help me, Gambit,_ please_!--" And the hand came down over her mouth again, with so much force that she bit her tongue. She was sobbing, now; through her tears, Jubilee could no longer make out the particulars of Gambit's injuries, just hear him groaning in pain. She could see him drop to his knees, though, in the dim light of her panicked fireworks.

The soldiers continued to rain blows down on his back. Gambit staggered to his feet again; only managed to stay there for a few seconds before he was beaten back to his knees, then to all fours. _They'll stop, _Jubilee thought desperately. _He's been beaten. They've got to stop._

But they didn't. Gambit collapsed onto his stomach in the red glow of her fireworks, no longer even able to raise a hand to protect himself. Ten or more of the soldiers swarmed him, beating the wiry body covered in its own blood. Jubilee fought harder to reach him, uselessly, thin body racked with guilty sobs. This was all her fault. He had been trying to protect her.

And the soldiers just kept kicking him while he was down, more violent than ever; Jubilee could have sworn they were taking some sick _pleasure_ in it. Gambit's body shuddered, frail, breaking, breaking –

Falling, Jubilee remembered through her tears, falling, falling, _falling_ –

"_Cut thayat OUT!"_

Jubilee only realized that it wasn't her own voice when the soldiers immediately snapped to attention. Of course, her mouth was still covered; and the voice -- although female, had a Mississippi twang -- but in her state of panic, Jubilee noticed neither of those things. She only saw that now, maybe too late to help, Gambit was being shown mercy.

Jubilee squinted at his body, tears streaming down her puffy face onto that merciless leather glove. It was impossible to tell whether he was even alive. Her gaze flickered, then, and she looked for the source of the voice – for whoever was Gambit's savior.

In the salt-white light of her fireworks, the shadow of a woman was approaching down one neat, shell-lined garden path. She was thin, Jubilee could see as the woman came into the limelight, but not frail. Young, in her early twenties, but there was a streak of pale silver in her hair which – gleaming under the fireworks -- made her look much older. She was weaponless, but clearly didn't need a weapon in order to command respect – the looks the soldiers sent her bordered on reverence.

"What y'all tryin' to do," she spat as she reached the knot of soldiers, "Kill him?"

She reached out with a black boot, turned Gambit over. He splayed out at her feet, beaten, defenseless. The blood on his face was so horrible that Jubilee's wordless scream of horror was clear even through the soldier's glove.

Desperate that someone at the Academy see, come to her rescue, Jubilee continued to generate as many fireworks as she could; they sparkled in the air, insanely lovely and bright, before fizzling out. But no one came.

"He'll be fine," said the Southern girl. "Hurry up, we gotta go."

"Rogue," barked the soldier holding Jubilee, who was still fighting and kicking for dear and holy life. "The little bitch won't stop OW! She bit me!" he said in horror, dropping his hand again. Jubilee raised a wordless howl that went right to the moon before the hand clamped over her mouth again. "She's gonna blow our cover."

_Wolverine!_

'Rogue' squinted into Jubilee's face, hard and ruthless. Jubilee thought she'd never seen a colder pair of eyes. At length Rogue nodded, and removed one leather glove slowly. "Y'all are probably right, come to that." A little smile flickered on the corners of her mouth as she raised a hand towards Jubilee's face, but the look was ironic, without pity.

"Don't worry, sugar," she said, in a tone so sweet that it was needlessly cruel. "This'll all be over 'fore you know it."

Jubilee no longer understood quite what was going on, but she knew instinctively that whatever else happened, she didn't want this woman to touch her. She fought as hard as she could, and got for her troubles absolutely nothing; Rogue's smooth white hand approached inexorably. Jubilee flinched as it lay alongside her bare cheek, soft as sleep.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then all Jubilee's strength left her, and she lay limp and drained in the soldier's arms as Rogue pulled the glove back on, walking away, head spinning with nausea and vertigo.

The last thing Jubilee heard was Rogue's Southern drawl. "Grab 'em both. Let's get outta here 'fore ole Xavier comes a-knocking." The last thing she saw were shreds of her tattered fireworks, disappearing against a backdrop of stars.

Then, even the stars faded, and Jubilee saw and heard no more. 


	8. Betrayal

"You're late," Wolverine said loudly, as Emma Frost – the White Queen -- walked into Xavier's boardroom.

"How kind of you to notice," Frost replied, taking a seat at the table without looking at him. She pulled a nail file from her pocket and feigned an unconvincing fascination with the cuticle of her ring finger. "I was hoping someone would. Would you like to know _why_?'

"Not really," Wolverine began.

Xavier held up a hand. "If you choose to enlighten us, Emma, please make it brief."

"Would it be so… terribly… hard to install some security in the basement?" Emma snapped. She poked the table with her nail file for emphasis, irritated and icy gaze sweeping over the impassive faces surrounding her; Xavier and Wolverine, of course; Jean was there, too, looking more irritatingly flawless than ever, with one sickly-sweet hand placed on Scott Summers' – Cyclops' – leg. Storm had raised one eyebrow and settled underneath it with an expression of disdain. Not particularly fond of any of these vistas, Emma settled her gaze on the one empty chair at the table and assumed an expression of long-suffering superiority.

"Every level of this school is outfitted with extensive security," Storm said coolly. "As is only appropriate."

"Perhaps. Nevertheless, I just had a student not only interrupt me at my work, but damage several thousand dollars worth of equipment." She shot a venomous look at Xavier. "That's your equipment, Professor, and you'll have to foot the bill. I should think that would move you a little, if nothing else does."

"Doctor Frost, we are aware that not all our students can fully control their abilities. Provided the incident was an accident, I am fully prepared to absorb the cost of repairs," Xavier said mildly.

Emma pushed her pale hair back over her shoulders, sighing; she was sitting facing a window, and the sun pouring into her eyes did nothing for her mood. "Wiping up the spilled milk after these children is just going to spoil them. They know very well that they're not supposed to be in the lower levels of the mansion and it's time those rules were actually enforced."

"Have you had a problem with this before?" Xavier asked, folding his hands on the lacquered red wood of the tabletop.

"Apparently a precedent has been set – "

Xavier held up a hand again, and she was cowed into defiant silence. "I have the utmost faith in our students, Doctor Frost." His tone was still maddeningly mild. "The vast majority would never dream of violating your professional privacy, and even those few who would, would never purposely damage your equipment. However, as you may not have been aware, we welcomed a new prospective student to the Academy today."

"Yes," Emma snapped, "It was her. Jubilee, was it? She was good enough to destroy several hard drives."

"Those can be replaced."

"And the information on them?"

"Can, in time, also be replicated." Xavier's voice was growing concerned. "It's certainly not as important as a prospective student. I hope you weren't harsh with this young woman. That would have made a very poor first impression."

"Of course I was harsh with her," Frost said coolly. Wolverine growled, low and deep in his throat; she ignored the warning. "I had every right to be."

Xavier raised his eyebrows minutely. He was obviously displeased. "What did you say to her?"

"What anyone else would have, under the circumstances," Emma sniffed, still not quite sure how this issue had been twisted around until it became her fault. "That she had been careless and clumsy and had done a great deal of damage. I wasn't, you'll notice, forced to exaggerate."

Wolverine shoved back from the table with a low growl, fists clenched, just a second away from popping his claws. His chair rammed hard into the elegantly papered wall; Xavier winced. "That kid's fragile, Frost, and she's just been through hell. Or were _you_ too busy giving her _more_ hell to notice? I bet you – "

"Wolverine, sit down!" Xavier snapped. He took a second to collect himself. "This is not at all how I wished to begin this meeting, but I suppose circumstances are what they are and one must adapt. Emma, I understand your frustration, but as Wolverine has pointed out, this was a rather special circumstance." He eyed Emma narrowly. "He has a point, as well. Did Miss Lee seem upset when she left your office?"

"Well…" Emma hesitated, busily filing away at her fingernails.

"Doctor Frost," Xavier said warningly.

"Maybe a little bit upset," Emma said, rolling her eyes and pushing her file into her white patent leather handbag. "As is only proper."

Cyclops, who had been watching the proceedings narrowly, groaned. Jean put a hand to her temple. "Wonderful," she mumbled. "Now this poor girl thinks we hate her. Emma, you did at least assure her that she wouldn't be blamed for the damage?"

Emma Frost rolled her eyes and switched hands with the file; Jean pinched the bridge of her nose wearily, looking away.

"What's happened has happened," Xavier said grimly. "Emma, I'll look into additional security for the labs."

"To protect her from the new students," Wolverine growled, "Or the other way around?"

"You may pick the former or the latter, as it pleases you," Xavier replied dryly. "Either way, the situation has become most unfortunate and mustn't be allowed to reoccur."

Wolverine pushed back from the table again. "I'm gonna go find her."

"That won't be necessary." Xavier said. "I've telepathically contacted Kitty and asked her to quickly sweep the grounds."

"You think Kitty – "

"I think Jubilee might benefit from having a girl her own age to talk to at this troubling time," Xavier said with faint humor. "The vast majority of teenage girls are not comfortable spending the majority of their days with unshaven, vagrant men. Kitty knows the circumstances of the school and can assure Miss Lee that her accident will not be held against her." Emma snorted; Xavier ignored her. "I understand why you'd like to go after her, but trust me."

"Who you calling _vagrant_?" Wolverine muttered, but he sat down.

"Hopefully this damage control covers everything," Cyclops said with a disapprovingly stiff upper lip, and what probably would have been an equally disapproving expression, if one could see his eyes. "I hope you'll learn from this, Emma."

"This is getting ridiculous," Emma snapped back. She crossed her arms almost huffily. "I haven't done anything wrong. I came here to discuss the protection of our resources."

"The students ARE our resources, Doctor Frost," Xavier said sharply. "And I wonder, when Kitty's managed to find her – would you be terribly averse to offering Miss Lee an apology?"

The White Queen heaved a melodramatic sigh, wilting over the tabletop. "Could we _please_ just start the meeting?"

"We're waiting on someone, Emma," Jean told her, in a faint, humorous aside, stifled laughter glinting in her green eyes. "Nothing's being postponed so that we can pick on you."

"Really," Emma said, opening one eye. "Who?"

"Hey," said Iceman, opening the door. "Sorry I'm late."

"Another _student_?" Emma frowned, opening the other eye and sitting up primly in her chair. She pronounced the word _student_ as though it were a curse. "What, I'm supposed to be making some… practice apology?"

Iceman turned around to close the door behind them. When he faced them again, he was a she, the she was blue, and her face possessed a hitherto untold quotient of insolence which more than rivaled Emma Frost's. "Why, White Queen, I didn't know you cared."

Emma scoffed into her purse, pretending she was looking for something very important so that Jean wouldn't see her red face. "Mystique. You've still a flare for second-rate theatrics."

"You've still -- " Mystique began in a purr, but Xavier cut the repartee off before it could go any further.

"Miss Darkholme." He gestured graciously at the one empty chair. "How good of you to join us."

"Finally," Cyclops added in a mutter.

"Now that everyone is present," Xavier continued – loudly, as Mystique looked entirely ready to respond to Summers as well – "Allow me to properly open this meeting."

"Yes, Professor," Storm agreed with a smile; she looked relieved at the change in the table's conversational material. "You have continued to defer the explanation for our gathering. Why have you called us here?"

"I believe that you know, Storm," Xavier replied, with a reassuring smile. "That is, you met him this morning."

Storm blinked her dark eyes, apparently at a loss. "Professor?"

"I called this formal panel in order to discuss the possible addition of a new agent to our roster of X-Men," Xavier explained. "Are any of you familiar with the name Remy Lebeau?" Mystique said nothing, but the lean midnight blue of her face flickered into a scythe-moon of a smile. Xavier cleared his throat a little bit. "Gambit?" he added hopefully, when no one seemed to respond.

Wolverine immediately popped a claw and sliced the empty air with it, snarling, "No way, Chuck. Not that _Cajun_." His teeth were bared; his expression, barely civil. "Can't believe you'd _think_ about it. It sounds like some nightmare."

"I'm surprised it comes as such a shock to you," Xavier said mildly. "Lebeau provided transportation for your return to the school, didn't he? He must have mentioned his own destination, and the reason for his travels."

"He said you offered him a job here," Wolverine growled. "I was thinking maybe janitor."

"Your charming associate does have a point, Charles," Mystique said, resting her chin on folded reptilian hands and leaning a little forward in her seat. Wolverine rolled his eyes; she didn't appear to notice. "Gambit's track record is even more travel-stained than mine. And that may be saying something."

"Got that right," Wolverine grumbled, but Jean began to speak and he immediately fell silent, eyes softening as he watched her.

"I don't understand. Who's Gambit?" Jean raked a lean hand through her red hair.

"And will we have an opportunity to meet this… character?" Storm added.

"Let's continue these proceedings in an orderly manner, please," Xavier said chidingly, folding his hands on the tabletop. "Mister Lebeau will not be joining us at this meeting. He has opted to take a tour of the grounds pending our initial decision. I presumed introductions would not be necessary unless I had a consensus of general consent as to his probationary membership."

Mystique laughed. The sound was like a snake striking. "Yes, it would have to be probationary, wouldn't it?"

"Remy Lebeau," Xavier continued, ignoring, as usual, Mystique's witticisms, "Or, as he prefers to be known, _Gambit_, is a thirty-four year old male American belonging to the Cajun minority group. And, yes, he is a mutant. Storm, you've already met him; you showed him in with Wolverine this morning."

Storm frowned, raising her eyebrows again heavenwards. "I see. And what is the nature of his mutation?"

"What he's demonstrated and admitted to, Ororo, is an ability to telekinetically charge objects for explosion. A useful offensive procedure, one must admit." Xavier paused. "Secondly – and although he hasn't mentioned it – I believe I've telepathically sensed an additional mutation. Mildly enhanced charisma and persuasion ability… a 'charm power', in layman's terms. But it may be my imagination," he added, glancing at Mystique for verification; her dark face gave away nothing, and Xavier sighed. "It would hardly be the first time I've been mistaken."

"You ain't mistaken," Wolverine growled, but he looked oddly relieved. "I _knew_ she couldn't actually be going in for that kind of stuff." Cyclops shot him an odd look; Wolverine quickly busied himself with examining one claw and pretending he hadn't said anything.

Storm, in the meanwhile, had flushed noticeably, even under the ebony of her skin. "I… don't think you're mistaken, professor," she said, refusing to make eye contact with everybody and also taking a great interest in the countertop. Mystique tittered again.

"As Mystique has mentioned,' Xavier continued, "Gambit's affairs are prolific and not always complimentary to his character. He was associated with the Thieves' Guild in his youth, and apparently left it only to take a commanding role in the then-seminal Brotherhood, where he remained for some time."

Cyclops snorted. "Why would we even begin to consider an agent with that kind of a history?"

Mystique leaned back in her chair, smiling widely at Cyclops, who didn't smile back. "A few skeletons in the closet are hardly reason to shut a competent tactician out of the X-Men, am I right? You let me in, after all."

"Mystique is generally correct," Xavier agreed. "Gambit has clearly made mistakes, but these incidents are in the past. As far as I can tell, his interactions with the Thieves' Guild are minimal and generally consist of familial visits – which he cannot be blamed for, as he was, after all, raised within the Guild. As for the Brotherhood, there is absolutely no evidence that he has contacted them or facilitated their purposes since his departure."

"So he's not all bad," Cyclops said wryly. "Doesn't prove he's any good."

"There are many eyewitness accounts of his helping endangered Mutants – both those targeted by civilian mobs, and by police and military outfits such as the Brotherhood. This has apparently brought him into direct conflict with his former associates, but all sources suggest that hasn't altered his behavior. His self-rehabilitation has been commendable."

"You've got to be kidding," Wolverine growled. "I met this guy cheating at poker in the back room of some bayou saloon. You think he's X-Men material?"

"We must be realistic here," Xavier said lowly, gazing out the window. The harsh July sun had moved from attacking Emma's eyes on to Xavier's own; Emma, at least, looked rather satisfied at the turn of events. With an irritated bang, Xavier telekinetically slammed the room's blinds down; Emma rolled her eyes, and Xavier triggered the overhead fluorescent light before their eyes could adjust. "The Brotherhood is expanding, growing in number, and becoming significantly more aggressive in their pursuit of agents and test subjects, both willing and unwilling. You can't argue as to that, Wolverine; Miss Jubilation Lee's own precarious circumstances, when she first encountered you, are proof enough of that."

"You know, I'm curious," Mystique interrupted. "Jubilation Lee. No relation to the Las Angeles Lees?"

"You mean the ones who were murdered last summer?" Jean murmured. "Oh, poor girl, I hope not. Can you imagine?"

"I can imagine," Xavier said grimly, "And yes, Jubilation was the daughter of Yefei and Benjamin Lee. For those of you who don't remember, they were mutant-rights activists found dead in their Las Angeles home almost a year ago." Jean covered her mouth, eyes troubled. "Apparently Jubilation was the inspiration for their activism," Xavier added quietly. "Unlike so many parents of young mutants, who choose to react with fear and loathing, the Lees tried to make the world a better place for their daughter's kind."

"Yes," Emma sniffed, "And look how much it's benefited her. Perhaps they should have tossed her out on the street like everyone else."

"There's no need to be glib, Emma," Scott snapped. "The Lees did a lot of good work."

"They helped overturn a seminal piece of anti-mutant legislation," Jean agreed, then, more quietly; "And they must have been good parents, too. Poor little thing."

"Well," Mystique said, leaning back in her chair and not looking terribly moved, "That explains the Brotherhood, anyway. What?" she said, rolling her eyes when she noticed the looks her comment had earned her. "Am I not being horrified and tragical enough? It explains why the Brotherhood is after her. Jubilee's mutation isn't nearly powerful enough to really benefit the Brotherhood. But, well, if she's the Lee's daughter…."

"They know as a certainty that she has no parents to come searching for her," Storm finished, realizing the implications.

Emma nodded. "And that her status as a Lee can work for them or against them. I suppose the name itself lends Jubilation a certain power, doesn't it? If she becomes active in mutant rights, she'll have immediate supporters in those who supported her parents. But if she doesn't… if she becomes an agent of the Brotherhood…."

"Then she's dealt a blow to the Mutant Rights faction," Mystique agreed. "The Brotherhood can always use another powerful puppet."

"Huh," Wolverine mused. "Should have realized. I told her they were just desperate."

"I'm sure that's a factor as well," Xavier murmured. "Mystique's abrupt departure – though we are, of course, grateful and pleased to have her on the team – "

"Dispense with the niceties, Charles," Mystique said wryly.

Xavier did not object. "-- was a source of significant anger to the Brotherhood; a blow to their pride and to their strength. They'll be trying to make up for that now, and they'll have an eye on the outfit they believe 'stole' their matriarch."

"A flock of angry hornets," Jean muttered.

Xavier nodded. "Exactly. Now, these are the facts, unfortunate as they are; and it is a fact that the X-Men are a small band and could use additional personnel; and it is a fact that personnel of such a caliber are next to impossible to find, and that while some of our students show promise, none are ready yet."

Wolverine snorted. "Are you kidding me? Drake can hand me some serious damage in the Danger Room. And I don't say that lightly."

"It's not their offensive abilities which I speak of, Wolverine," Xavier replied. "If the X-Men were an outfit like the Brotherhood, Bobby and a host of others – Kitty, Warren, Lorna – would be more than ready to join your ranks. But we aren't. And until the students learn how to use their powers defensively – to save and protect, rather than destroy – they are not fit to wear the uniform." Jean was nodding her assent; Wolverine noticed, and reluctantly cut off his readied retort.

"Gambit has proved himself capable of such protection – if you don't believe that, notice his behavior around Jubilation. Despite Mystique's defection," Xavier continued, "We are lacking manpower; and despite Gambit's… checkered… past, he is more than sufficient manpower and he did show at least a cautious interest in the job. On a personal note, I would push to keep him." Xavier wouldn't dream of reading the thoughts of those at the table; no ruder invasion of privacy could be imagined. However, he shifted his gaze from Frost to Grey to Munroe to Summers, trying to gauge their tense, blank faces. "But I would never dream of proclaiming a new X-Man without consulting those who are already part of the roster. What are your feelings on this matter?"

Jean spoke first, perhaps simply to calm Wolverine, who looked on the verge of splitting the table down the middle. "Professor, I see what you're saying," she said carefully; Storm made a noise of grudging assent, and Scott nodded his agreement as well. "But it's simply… it's too soon to tell. As strange as it sounds, when we allowed Mystique onto the team, we were familiar with her from our clashes with the Brotherhood. But as intriguing as Mister Lebeau sounds, half of us haven't even met this man. And, well…" she looked a little guilty. "No offense to you, Mystique, but associations with the Brotherhood ring an alarm bell for me."

"No offense taken," Mystique said. "For whatever it's worth, I never did trust Remy Lebeau any further than I could throw them."

Cyclops frowned, glancing at Grey. "What are you suggesting, Jean? You think he could be a spy? Xavier sent for Gambit, not the other way around." 

"I'm not suggesting anything," Jean said. "Except that we wait. We meet him and wait. Waiting until we've a better reason to make up our minds couldn't hurt anything. Right, Professor?" Xavier's forehead was creased in a deep frown; he didn't appear to be listening. Jean frowned herself, surprised. "_Professor_?" 

"PROFESSOR!" 

Every head at the table snapped up; Kitty "Shadowcat" Pryde had careened through the wall and halfway into the table, and now stood, half-phased, intangible and shaking, in the heart of the X-Men's private conference room.

"Kitty," Xavier began, "The fact that you need not use doors does not excuse you from knock – for heaven's sake, child," he said with more alarm, suddenly noticing the tears streaking down her face. "What on earth is the matter?" 

"I'm so sorry," Kitty sobbed. She stepped backwards, out of the table, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't do anything."

Wolverine grunted, his eyes narrowed with alarm; Emma glanced at Xavier. He looked pale and drawn, but maintained a forced calm in his voice. "Who?"

"Didn't you SEE? It was all right there through the window!" Kitty burst into a fresh gale of tears, head cradled in her hands. She was still shaking; Jean quickly rose and wrapped her in a reassuring hug, glancing worriedly at the blinds Xavier had slammed down. _It would be night out there, by this time_. Pryde melted against the doctor, weeping bitterly. "What happened, Kitty? You've got to calm down."

"Jubilee and that guy, that – Gambit," Kitty gasped, her starbursts of freckles splashed with salt streaks. She stared at Xavier with wide, desperate eyes, breathing hitched and horrified. "They got attacked, just, just, out of nowhere. These guys just -- "

"The Brotherhood," Jean whispered. Mystique's thin lips quirked into that cat-and-cream smile again.

"They got – beaten up pretty badly," Kitty continued in a whimper "And they – they – they -- "

"What?" Xavier looked almost afraid of the answer.

"They're…" Kitty whispered, "Well, they're gone."


	9. No Exit

Jubilee's eyes opened, abruptly and of their own volition, and glanced around blearily while her consciousness caught up. She was in a bedroom. Looked like a high-end hotel room, of the kind her parents had preferred. Off-white walls. Flowered bedspread. Basement-quality Monet print -- which one was it? -- Jubilee squinted. _Water Lilies_. Jubilee had expected some kind of cell, but there were no bars or locks to be seen. She felt relieved for a fraction of a split of a second. Then her brain clocked in too and she realized there was a tattooed blue demon crouching over her, face inches away, grinning fit to split.

Having recognized and considered this fact, Jubilee screamed in a manner prose cannot do justice to and flailed wildly. The protest only served to invoke a stroke of nausea so awful that her vision swam black and her stomach threatened to upend itself. When Jubilee could see again, she stopped screaming; the blue demon had retreated – instantaneously -- to a corner of the suite, and now bore a rather injured expression. Correspondingly, Jubilee lowered her voice to a dull whimper. It wasn't that the situation no longer warranted a scream; simply that she'd been shouting when she'd passed out, and the mysterious interim evidently hadn't lasted long enough ago for her vocal cords to recover. The immediate, sharp pain in her still-hoarse throat was proof of that.

She reached for her bag to clutch over her stomach, couldn't find it, and noticed a pink spot in her inner elbow. _Oh my god they've drugged me_. Not a sedative, though -- her mind still washed with the vertigo of crashing waves of questions.

Who was THEY?

Why had they brought her here?

_Was Gambit dead? _She remembered the sight of that proud thief, bloodied and broken on the ground; shivered, pressed her head to her knees under their flowered quilt, trying to dispel her nausea. Sunlight came in through the Venetian blinds over the window, struck Jubilee with slatted light. He couldn't have survived that.

_I'm death. I'm death walking._

A low voice. "Fraulein Lee? Are you all right?"

She looked up. The demon was watching her attentively. "Oh my god," she whimpered, "Please tell me that I'm imagining you."

The creature bared hideous yellow fangs in a chuckle. "Not your god," it said with faint, childish humor, "And you're not imagining me, no. I vas sent to vatch over you."

"My jailer," Jubilee said, soft and sick. She sat up a little straighter, ignoring her worsening headache. "Well… don't get any ideas. I know kung fu."

The demon coughed. "Of course."

"Well… I'm a yellow belt." Jubilee had noticed his accent; a thought occurred to her. "You people aren't… like… Nazis, are you?"

Immediately she knew she'd said the wrong thing, and was awash in terror. How serious would the repercussions of 'the wrong thing' be?... The thin, elfin creature had bared those awful teeth; his tail _(tail?!)_ slashed the air, spade-tipped and lethal. "Of course not," he growled.

Jubilee she couldn't tell how much of the snarling was his natural tone and how much was anger. "Okay," she said anxiously, pushing herself as far back as she could. "Don't have a heifer. it was just a question." She paused, knew she was walking on thin ice, and had to ask anyway -- "Is this hell?"

He glowered. _"No."_

"Where am I, then?" She asked softly. Her guessing was going nowhere fast. Best just to be told.

"Oh!" The goblin-like creature brightened considerably. "You are in governmental guest facilities." He executed an elaborate bow, tail twitching almost spastically. "Velcome!"

Guest facilities. Should she be relieved? Her bullshit-sense was tingling. "Who are you?" Jubilee asked, more softly still. Not sure she wanted to know. Maybe she could still pretend he was just a nightmare.

He smiled. Or snarled. She wasn't sure, just caught that flash of yellow fangs. "My name is Kurt Wagner."

She hesitated, clutching the bedspread nervously with thin, shaky hands. "I – I'm not looking to offend, but -- _what_ are you?"

"I'm not sure," Kurt said curiously, with a thoughtful look in his yellow eyes. He didn't seem to have taken any offense. "I suppose that depends vhat you mean by the question."

"What… are you?" Jubilee waved a helpless hand through the stale air, frustrated and dizzy. "You know what I mean."

Kurt sighed. "People always say that, but no, I never do. I am many things. Aren't you?"

A wave of irritation rose in her, despite her desperate attempts to quell it. "Don't argue semantics with me. I could semantics your ass under the table."

"I would prefer it if you didn't," Wagner said anxiously, flicking his tail through the air. "Zat sounds rather painful."

Jubilee tried to stop hesitating. She had a right to ask questions, she told herself, and stared up at the ceiling fan, trying to regain her nerve. "Are you human?"

"As human as you."

"Why do you look like that?" Jubilee heard the words coming out before she could stop them; she clapped her hand over her mouth in horror.

_Why do you look like that? _She'd been asked that on her first day of kindergarten. LA was an easygoing place, and Jubilee hadn't even been conscious, until then, that there was anything unusual about her almond-shaped eyes. The moment had changed her inside; that little blonde brat had stolen something secret and vital from Jubilee. Whatever it was, Jubilee – despite being quite the little thief -- had never managed to steal it back. It was funny. She was a mutant, had been subject to all kinds of abuse, and she still remembered hearing "_Why do you look like that?" _as her four-year-old stomach tie itself in shamed knots.

_Whatever._ This was different. It was a pretty big leap from being Asian to being a fuzzy blue elf. Still, those words were ugly, no matter who or what Jubilee was saying them to. "I didn't mean it that way," she said, feeling queasy, trying to smile at Wagner. _What am I feeling guilty about? Hello? They kidnapped you and they've locked you in with some demon thing. They're the ones who need to get dressed down!_

If Jubilee had hurt Wagner, he hid it well; he looked quite serene. "I am a mutant, if that vould answer the question for you."

"That's the best answer I'm gonna get?"

"God has the _best_ answers," Wagner said serenely. "I am content vith knowing that much of vhat and who I am."

Jubilee nearly groaned. He talked like a Sudoku puzzle; everything was the same both ways and still didn't make any sense. "Okay, okay, don't go all Chick Tract on me." Then what he had said hit home. "You're a mutant? And… that's your mutation?" Suddenly, unbelievably, Jubilee felt lucky. Fireworks. That was it, just fireworks. And this poor guy had been saddled looking like Magical Mister Mephistopheles.

"Not just this, no," he assured her. "I can also do zis!"

"Wha – "

_BAMF!_

He was two inches from her nose. Smoke and sulfur-scent filled the room. Jubilee wrinkled her nose – it smelled like rotten eggs -- and tried not to choke on her own tongue.

Wagner was grinning proudly.

"Please don't ever do that again without warning me," she said in a small voice. "And also get off my stomach."

"Oh," said Kurt. "Sorry." He paused. "I'm about to do it again."

"Okay," said Jubilee.

_BAMF!_ He was back where he started.

"Vy are you wearing a stethoscope?" Wagner asked curiously, after an awkward pause.

Jubilee glanced down and then laughed, caught off guard. "Oh. I forgot about that." She pulled off the stethoscope. "Take that shit, Frost, you stuck-up bitch." she suggested to the stethoscope. "I've got your effing stethoscope." Jubilee's arms felt heavy, head still aching. And – she'd forgotten -- that little red dot in the crook of her elbow – "Hey! By the _effing way_. What the _hell_ did you people stick me with?"

"_Herr Dokter_ McCoy gave you a vitamin shot," Wagner said soothingly. "And a checkup. In order to be assured Rogue did no lasting damage. You are quite all right." He paused. "In fact… perhaps you should get out of bed. How are you feeling?"

"Terrible." Jubilee said pathetically, flopping back with slightly more drama than was strictly called for.

Kurt Wagner smiled sympathetically. "Yes, it is not a surprise, if Rogue had to calm you down. You vere very upset?"

"Calm me down," Jubilee snorted, then clutched her head – the act of snorting made her skull feel like it was being split down the middle. "With a psychic four-by-eight to the temple?"

"It can feel like zat," Wagner agreed with a low chuckle. He was wearing jeans, Jubilee realized as he pushed his hands casually into either denim pocket. There must be a hole cut in the back, for his tail. "Believe me, I know. But Doctor McCoy says no lasting damage vas done. I am sure Rogue is very sorry."

Names were coming fast – Wagner, McCoy, Rogue – but the name Jubilee wanted most badly to hear still hadn't been spoken. "Where's Gambit?" she demanded, sitting up so fast that lights blurred before her eyes.

Wagner, breaking his promise, _BAMF_ed to her side again, pushing her back down gently. "Please, Fraulein Lee, you must rest."

"Screw resting!" Jubilee cried, struggling, and knowing as she struggled that she was presenting absolutely no challenge to the lean, demonlike creature. "Where the fuck is Gambit?" She felt disgusting and guilty for only asking now, and tried to channel that into her voice, to turn it into anger. "What did they do to him? Is he even _alive_?!"

"I'm sorry," Wagner said anxiously, gently holding onto her shoulders. "I honestly don't know who you're talking about. To the best of my knowledge, you arrived alone. If the case is otherwise, you must speak to someone else." Not only was all this squirming useless, Jubilee had exhausted herself. She let herself go limp under Wagner's hands, and he cautiously removed them.

Jubilee felt sick to her stomach again, nauseated more with her own weakness and helplessness than anything else. Wagner knelt anxiously at her bedside; she turned her head to look at him. Even that tiny movement was an effort. "What are you gonna do to me?" she whispered, and fought the familiar sting of tears in her eyes.

"Do to you?" Kurt echoed, as though the words were foreign to him. "Nothing, Miss Lee. You speak as though you are a prisoner."

"I _am_ a prisoner," Jubilee said.

"No, no, no," Kurt hastened to assure her, "You are a _guest_."

She could feel the tears rising in her eyes; and Kurt could see them, too. He looked horrified. "Please don't cry," he begged her.

Jubilee closed her eyes, still shaking. "I'm cold," she whispered, willing him to leave her alone.

"Ah!" Kurt Wagner announced. Jubilee could _hear_ his winning smile without even opening her eyes. "Ve have BLANKETS!"

He _BAMF_ed to a cupboard. "I thought you were going to tell me before you did that," Jubilee moaned, opening one eye.

"Oh, yes," Kurt said. "Ah… I'm going to teleport."

"You know what?" Jubilee groaned, laying back down. "Just forget it."

Kurt opened the cupboard and pulled out a heavy military blanket of black fleece. "If you are cold," he declared grandly, "Zat can be remedied!" He opened the blanket with a grand, fwooshing gesture, spun it through midair like a matador, and ended by draping it melodramatically over Jubilee's curled body. He looked so pleased at his own performance that Jubilee had to laugh.

"That was kind of… awesome. Where'd you learn that?"

"Oh," Kurt said, in a voice that tried to be casual and failed tragically. "Just a little something from my circus days."

"Your circus days?" Out of nowhere, Jubilee remembered Wolverine's voice, back on the train. _I know at least one active member came straight from a German freak show._ "Were you…" How did you put this in a way that wasn't awkward, Jubilee wondered desperately? "Were you… like… in a freak show?"

Kurt wilted a little bit. "Vell," he said awkwardly, _BAMF_ing up to the bay windowsill and crouching in it pensively, "Yes. Towards the end." He glanced up anxiously, spaded tail twitching. "But zere vas so much more I did before that!"

"Really," Jubilee said, trying not to smile.

"Oh, yes," Kurt Wagner assured her grandly. He leapt down from the window. "I vas the star of a most incredible teleportation act. Zey called me…" He paused… "_Ze Incredible Nightcrawler!_"

There was a very appropriate pause.

When she judged it safe to speak, Jubilee snickered, "Are you aware that you just struck a pose?"

"Oh. Sorry," Kurt said awkwardly, lowering his uplifted arms to the sides of his bare chest. "Reflex."

"You looked just like a pirate," Jubilee laughed.

The Incredible Nightcrawler grinned as though she'd flattered him. "Ah! Yes, I love pirates! My dream career, I assure you, Fraulein."

Jubilee sighed. Something about that actually wasn't very funny. "Maybe that metaphor's a little too appropriate. Stealing helpless girls from their homes and families… Locking them away... What do you think?" She cast a narrow glance at him, no longer feeling much like laughing.

All the grandeur drooping out of Nightcrawler's pose. "Fraulein Lee…."

She held up a weary hand. "Jubilee. Cut that crap. I'm just Jubilee." She closed her eyes, rolled away from him on the bed. "You could at least tell me where Gambit is. I keep losing every family I find. You proud of yourself, Captain Wagner?"

"I don't know what to tell you, Jubilee," Nightcrawler said anxiously, after a pause. She could hear him padding softly closer on those strange, three-toed feet. "I suppose… it is part of God's plan for you."

"This is the American army, all right," Jubilee mumbled. "No atheists in foxholes."

"Sorry? Vhat did you say?"

She raised her voice, rolling over again to face Wagner; he stepped back worriedly when he saw the expression on her face. "I said is that supposed to convince me? It's God's PLAN that my parents got murdered?" Jubilee barked laughter. "That's supposed to inspire me to fasting and prayer?"

She expected anger and a loud defense, but Nightcrawler just looked saddened. "How do you live without faith?" He asked her sadly, _BAMF_ing to the bureau, and only then did Jubilee notice his sole other object of adornment, besides the jeans; a golden crucifix around his blue-black neck.

She sighed and closed her eyes, shutting him out again. "I get up. Eat breakfast. Put my socks on. Faith isn't an integral part of life. Just a bonus for the naïve."

Nightcrawler chuckled. "You sound very much the hardboiled film noir detective." He dipped his head. "My sympathies are vith you, Gumshoe Lee."

Jubilee laughed as well, reluctantly. "And you, as aforementioned, are a pirate straight outta the Old Testament. The world's only Bible-thumping Captain Jack Sparrow."

Nightcrawler glanced at her. "Who?"

"Who?" Jubilee echoed, instantly forgetting the previous subject. Her eyebrows rose up into her bangs. "WHO? You're joking, right? You haven't been living under a ROCK for the last ten years? You HAVE seen _Pirates of the Caribbean_?"

He blinked. "I vatch ze CLASSIC pirate movies," he said with disdainful enthusiasm, which is a tricky thing to manage. "Errol Flynn! Danger! Adventure! Beautiful venches! Swash swash, buckle buckle!"

"Okay," said Jubilee, sitting up, "This is just getting ridiculous. Educate yourself, you uncultured swine. You get gone and don't come back until you've found us _Curse Of The Black Pearl_."

"Sorry," Wagner shrugged, not moving, but smiling quite credibly. "I vas told to stay vith you until further orders. I cannot go running off to the nearest Blockbuster." He paused and considered this. "Zey don't like ze look of me zere anyway."

"Fine," said Jubilee, heaving her heavy body off the bed and forcing herself to stand upright. She narrowed her eyes dramatically, and spread her arms in her own, pretty passable, imitation of a circus performer. "Then I'll just have to educate you the hard way."


	10. Black Magic Woman

_A/N: I am deeply fascinated by the thoroughly worried reviews I've gotten about Gambit's fate. I'm tempted to actually do him in, just for the reactions. Anyway, as always, much thanks for some lovely (and increasingly adamant) reviews._

_It's been years since I've taken a French class. If Gambit's is fabulously terrible in this chapter, I do apologize._

_Locked Heart Ami, over and out._

Gambit jumped to his feet, grabbing for his _bo_, the instant he was aware enough to do so, before he even opened his eyes. He didn't know where he was, what had happened; his hair-triggered body functioned on pure instinct. In this particular instance, that didn't work to his advantage; he immediately collapsed backwards, barely raising a hand to shield his skull, body _buzzing_ with pain, every atom of his being screaming his stupidity. _Jubilee._ Gambit could barely form a coherent thought, and shockwaves of pain still reeled across him like a tide.

There was something in his mouth. He raised a bruised hand to a bruised lip, spat it out, and forced his lead-heavy eyes open. A very white chip of tooth. _Attractive, Remy. Now you just got to learn to keep the damn things in your mouth. _ He checked with his tongue -- it was from a back tooth, a molar -- the root wasn't exposed, thank god. Gambit raised his eyes, looking away from the piece of shattered bone.

_Jubilee._ But, no, Jubilee was long gone, they weren't on the hill anymore. At least _his_ location was different – different, and familiar, because it wasn't the first time Gambit had been in a cell. Bars, tile, nothing to look at but a sink and toilet, rock-hard cot beneath him – all this was familiar to him, more familiar than he would have liked. He swept the room with a red-light gaze. No one around, that he could see, anyway.

_Nothing to worry about. No reason to panic._ Wasn't his first time in a cell, he reminded himself firmly. Not the first time he'd been worked over, either -- although his muscles and bones still screamed, and he couldn't remember ever being this afraid to actually attempt to _move._ Cautiously, Gambit ran his fingers over his lean frame. Only little bits of him stuck out from under the black body armor, but those bits were so uniformly and deeply bruised that his bare skin looked like a continuation of the costume. _Bruises on my face. C'st ne pas bien -- open gash on my collarbone. Stitches? –_ _DIEU broken rib_,_ maybe more than one_…. With a wince, Gambit slid his trench coat out from underneath him – still lying down – and, carefully as he could, unzipped and peeled off his body armor, down to his waist. He wanted to know the true extent of the damage; squinted at his body. His black-blue torso had been bandaged, under the armor; with professional neatness and skill, too, he noted with surprise.

Gambit slipped his armor back on, grunting with the inevitable pain that process entailed. He was amazed by his own calm. He couldn't be sure exactly how bad his injuries were, without a doctor, but he was more than capable of making a grim guess. At least he knew for certain that he wasn't concussed; Gambit remembered exactly what had happened, and it made him angry enough to force himself to his feet, if not quite to forget the pain. _Where the fuck is Jubilee?_ Ignoring the weeping wounds of his body, he forced himself to hobble to the door of his cell. Hanging onto the bars for support, he tried to glance around the corner. No good; all he could see was the cement of his own prison walls.

"Jewel? _Mes petite_?"

No answer. Well, he'd just blow up the bars, then. That was a good start to any of various plans.

Remy began to charge the metal – and ripping pain echoed through his head, pineal gland outwards. Biting his tongue to keep from crying out, he let go of the bars; could feel one eyelid twitching as he looked down, and tasted blood in his mouth. His hands were smoking slightly.

"_Fuck_!" He yelled, in a burst of frustrated fury, and aimed a kick at the bars. All that earned him was a near-equivalent pain in his toes; Gambit hopped backwards on one foot, clutching his leather boot with both hands, and cursing in every language that came to mind.

"Well," said a cool voice, "Guess you're up an' about." 

Gambit cracked one unamused eye. A young woman lounged against the wall opposite – tall, whiplash-lean, with grey-streaked chestnut hair. He made himself grin at her; stood up, slow and easy, pretending she hadn't just seen him hollering and hopping on one leg across the floor. Really, Lady Luck could have provided him with a better first impression. "Rogue, _cherie._ Been a while."

"Y'all like your new digs?"

"Can't say I'm admiring the décor."

"'Specially built to keep you under wraps," she said with a sweet smile, ignoring his glare. "Walls're the same way, sugar, so don't even _think _about it."

"Huh," said Gambit judiciously. He cradled his chin in one hand, examining the bars. They didn't look rigged; still, his burnt hands could attest to the truth of what Rogue had said. "I wouldn't think about thinking about it. Indulge de Gambit's curiosity… how's it work?"

Rogue snorted. "Think Ah'd tell you an' watch you figure out some way 'round it, deep in that twisty little brain?" She smirked. "Let's just say it's a custom job, built with your _especial_ needs in mind."

Experimentally, Gambit touched a bar again. Nothing happened; they must be triggered by his powers. Both relieved and nonplussed, he leaned against the bars, holding onto one for balance. "I'm touched, _chere_. After all dis time, not even a postcard… I hardly expected you gracious folks to build me a guest room." He flashed a grin. "Brotherhood really missed de Gambit, _heh_?"

Rogue snorted. "Missed you? Not hardly."

They both fell silent, watching each other warily through the bars. It had been a long time since Gambit had seen Rogue. Her appearance was a little amazing – not how much she'd changed, but how much she _hadn't_. That same dusting of pale, pale freckles, those vulpine eyes, heart-shaped face, wild, unkempt hair. She'd grown up pretty, Gambit thought, in an odd, tomboyish way. He couldn't make out much of her body; it was hidden, bodystocking and gloves, sweater and scarf, countless layers of dark green and brown and black. Not that Gambit had to ask why.

"Quit draggin' your eyes down my front," Rogue ordered. Gambit realized that she was blushing. "Ah just showered, don't need your snail-trail all over me."

"Just showered?" He smiled. "Sorry I missed _dat_."

"Didn't miss much else, did you?" Rogue, scowling, crossed her arms over her chest.

"Don't flatter yourself, _chere_. I was just thinking that you grown."

Rogue blushed even more intensely, color creeping up her neck. "Ah know very well what y'all were thinkin' and you can cut it right out. Slime bucket." She pulled up the neck of her sweater. "Surprised you even remember me. You ain't cast two words my way since you left."

"'Course I remember you," Gambit said casually. He backstepped, eased his aching body into a sitting position on the cot. He made an ironic, knightly gesture in her direction; Rogue colored. "Think about you all the time. You turned out beautiful, _chere_. Any takers yet?"

She was silent at length, deeply flushed. He'd obviously hurt her. Her voice was almost hoarse with it, when she spoke. "You're still mean, Gambit,"

"You're still _dumb_, Rogue."

She snorted. "How you figure that?" 

"You had an excuse to be here, once," Gambit said flatly. "When I left de Brotherhood, you were biting ankles."

"Biting ankles?" Now she just looked insulted. "Not hardly. Ah was – "

"Thirteen, fourteen," Gambit snapped. "Still a little kid."

"Twelve," Rogue retorted, "And more an adult than you'll ever be, Cajun."

She did have a gift for outtalking him, he had to admit that. "Where's Jubilee?" Gambit asked, changing the subject.

Rogue had produced a thin keycard. She smiled as she opened the cell door. "Sleepin' off the worst hangover of her life, 'less Ah miss my guess." She stepped towards him on the bunk, beckoning impatiently. "Come on, enough yappin'."

"You touch her?" Gambit took a step forwards; Rogue stepped back before she realized what was happening, as he had known she would, and he took step after step until he'd backed her against the cell wall. "I'm warnin' you, Rogue…."

"Warnin' me nothin'," Rogue spat, ducking under his arm, and looking embarrassed at having been cornered so easily. Gambit turned again to face her, and advanced a threatening step, but Rogue held her ground, staring back insolently. "You wouldn't lay a hand on me. You don't nearly have the guts." She sniffed. "Girl's fine, anyway. Doctor McCoy says she's just tired."

"Guess Doctor McCoy would be de fine physician in residence?" Gambit said sarcastically. "Last I heard he was going by Beast now."

"Hank's still with us, whatever you wanna call him," Rogue said, rolling her eyes. She jerked her head towards the door. "Come on."

"'Still with us'. Dat's more than can be said for half his test subjects, I hear," Gambit said flatly, not moving.

Rogue looked a little unsure. She glanced at the ground. "Hank says progress requires sacrifices." Her tone was flat and rehearsed – and, Gambit thought, only half-convinced. "As an uneducated swamp rat, you wouldn't know nothin' 'bout that."

"He said dat to you?" Gambit said, with a mock frown, and Rogue nodded. Gambit shook his head as dramatically as he dared. "Called you a swamp rat? Dat rude son of a –"

"No!" Rogue exclaimed, reddening. "Ah meant – Ah meant that you – just _never mind_. Stupid _Cajun_."

"I got more faith in you then old Beast, Rogue," Gambit said, with a slight, sly grin that made it obvious he knew exactly what Rogue meant. "Can't make an omelette wit'out breakin' eggs, huh? Charmin' attitude from McCoy. So tell me," he smiled wider, wincing as the corners of his mouth pressed into bruised bone, "What's the Brotherhood got planned for lucky Remy, now he's back?" He traced the rim of one blackened eye. "I ain't forgotten your warm welcome."

Rogue shrugged impassively, pushing past him. "You got a problem, take it up with Sinister. My orders were to collect you and Jubilee, not ask stupid questions."

"Obedient to the point of stupidity," Gambit sneered, crossing his arms. "I forgot about all your more charmin' features, Roguey. You bringin' dem all rushin' back to me."

"Quit calling me that."

"Sure thing, _cherie_."

"Quit calling me _that,_ too."

"Sure thing, sweet – "

Rogue whipped off a glove, glowering, and held her neatly manicured hand up as though it were a weapon. "Don't you even start with me, Cajun. Ah'm movin' up in this organization and ain't no one gonna question me if Ah take you down. An' believe me, Remy – " her eyes were narrow, and yet, her hands were trembling – "Ah'll do it so fast you'll think it happened yesterday."

"What, Rogue," Gambit said, although he had taken several cautionary steps back, "And ruin all my charmin' first impressions of this little reunion?"

"You can act as self-righteous as you want," Rogue spat, "You still got a damn lot to answer for. Abandoning the Brotherhood, for instance?" She rested her hands – one gloved, one bare – on her hips, flushing. "Sabotaging our peacekeepin' missions time an' time again?" She had turned from him. "And for me to go lookin' for Jubilation Lee, and find you _with _her, with the _X-Men_, of all people…." Rogue trailed off as her voice began to tremble. She picked up again in an undertone, dragging her reluctant gaze along the dirty cell floor. "Ah always knew you was low, Remy, but now Ah'm discoverin' what a true snake-in-the-grass you really are." Her head snapped up; she poked at his chest accusingly, and Gambit flinched, although her finger only made contact with trenchcoat. "Did you know they kidnapped Mama?"

Gambit scoffed, pushing off the wall, away from Rogue – and away from her bared skin. "Kidnapped nothin'. Mystique had a mote of sense and left dis hole-in-the-ground. So'd you, if you had any brains."

"Liar!" Rogue barked. "Sinister TOL' me what happened," she continued, not noticing. "They're holdin' her hostage, those… X-Folk."

"Sinister said dat, huh?" Gambit asked quietly.

"Yeah, 'nfortunately for you lowlifes," Rogue snorted, and, having apparently resolved to take the high road, she tipped her nose into the air disdainfully, pulling her glove back on. "Twice that, 'cause the Brotherhood's gonna be staging a rescue mission. We won't be spat at by Xavier and his X-Lamers. Come on, let's go."

"X-Lamers?" Gambit chuckled, finally rising to his feet. "_Chere_, you can do better than that."

"Ah know what you're trying to do," Rogue said, still in that prissy, self-righteous tone. She straightened her gloves a little, nose in the air. "Get me mad. Ain't gonna work. The Brotherhood don't get mad, we get even. And we'll get Mama out of there – " she tipped her chin down and sent Gambit a scythe of a glare – "And take out your X-Friends while we're at it." She sniffed. "We even got an insider."

"That right," Gambit said skeptically.

"Sure is. _Emma_!"

From beyond the concrete cell, beyond Remy's field of vision, a woman walked into view. She was tall, exceptionally lovely, with a long sheet of silver-blonde hair, and white stilettos that drummed on the dirty floor, and not an awful lot of fabric in-between. Gambit tried not to stare.

"May Ah introduce Doctor Emma Frost," Rogue said defiantly, crossing her arms, sticking out her chin, and basically all but blowing a raspberry at Gambit.

Despite Rogue's baiting, Emma remained cool and collected. She ran her eyes up and down the Cajun, grasped one bar from outside, and smiled like a polar bear. "Why, hello, Remy. I don't believe we've met, but – should things work out --" Her diamond eyes glinted, chips of ice. "-- We'll be seeing a lot of each other."

Gambit smiled. "I'm lookin' forward to it, _chere_." He didn't dare try with his charm power, not in this deathtrap of a cell; considering the tone he was using, though, he hardly had to. He glanced at Rogue. "Glad to meet your 'insider'. Exactly who's she inside?"

"She's an X-Man."

"And you just… had her lurking all this time so you could get a suitably dramatic entrance?"

Rogue looked embarrassed, but Emma just smiled. "I was asked to monitor you telepathically. Rogue was very concerned that there might be brain damage," she replied, and turned to Rogue. "He's fine. As fine as that type ever gets, anyway, I can't imagine what Sinister sees in him... Now I'll excuse myself, if you've no objections. I'm supposed to go see Sinister before I return to the school, and my time is limited. I don't want to be missed."

"No problem," Rogue replied, nodding. "Thanks, Em."

Emma Frost winced, appeared on the verge of commenting on her new nickname, then decided against it and simply walked away, out the way she had come. Rogue watched her go, something strangely like jealousy in her eyes. Gambit watched her too; this situation was getting worse by the second, so he might as well enjoy what he could. "Telepaths," he mumbled, when Emma had finally disappeared. "Hate the feelin' of people messin' around in my head."

"Oh, come off it, you didn't even know she was here," Rogue said unsympathetically. "Now come on. If Emma gave you a clean bill a'health, you got no excuse to lie around here."

"Sure, Gambit said amiciably, following Rogue down the hallway of the cell block. She pressed a button for the elevator at the far wall. "You must have been really worried about me, huh?" 

"What gives you that impression?" Rogue said loftily, staring straight ahead.

"Well, if you asked the lovely Miss Emma Frost down here…."

"Like you said, Cajun, don't flatter yourself. Ah just didn't want to present Sinister wit' damaged goods." The elevator door slid open, and Rogue and Gambit stepped inside.

He was going to be presented to Sinister? There was suddenly a sinking feeling in Gambit's stomach, and he wasn't convinced it was simply due to the elevator dropping down floors. "So. What's on the agenda for entertaining me today? I'll warn you,_ chere_, I got a short attention span."

"No idea, thankfully," Rogue said, and Gambit wished he could wipe the look right off her face. Bored. Anything, any amount of animosity, was better than facing down boredom. "Doc McCoy told me to bring you to the labs. He's presumably got his own orders."

"You the go-fer girl now?" Gambit snorted. "You weren't kidding when you said you were moving up in the Brotherhood. Couple more steps, an internship, maybe Sinister will let you bring him his coffee."

Rogue flushed. "When it's this kind of a shipment," she said hotly, "Hell yes Ah am. An' Ah ain't ashamed of it, neither. Why'd Ah be worried about Sinister showing faith in me? In fact," she continued loudly, digging through the bag she carried on one hip and coming up with a pair of handcuffs, "The one who should be worried is you, less Ah miss my guess. Put your hands behind your back."

Gambit eyed the cuffs narrowly. Rogue noticed his hesitation; her mocking, feline smile pawed at his pride. "'Course, _chere_," he agreed, although his heart sunk as each steel ring closed around his wrist. "Didn't know you were into dis kind of thing."

"Ah can't wait to see you when Sinister's through with you," she sniffed. "We'll see how many innuendos you'll be makin' when y'all can't form a complete sentence."

Gambit shrugged. "Can't scare me too much, _chere_. I already know you folks want me alive. Otherwise, hell, I'd have been dead in dat garden." He remembered the feeling of it; his face pressed into the gravel walkway, the sickly scent of crushed gardenias mixed with his own blood. "You sure got a sense of propriety. Couldn't you think of a better place for a cowardly ambush?"

"Gambit?" said Rogue.

He smiled at her, and now that they were out of the cell, he didn't mind chancing just the slightest lick of charm power. "_Chere_?"

Rogue's gaze went completely blank when the spell hit her; she looked on the verge of saying something foolish, the overhead light gleaming stars into her wide eyes. Gambit blinked, surprised; the effect of the power wasn't usually so extreme. But, then, Rogue wasn't used to being close to men -- that was the very nature of her mutation, wasn't it? And, while Gambit didn't really understand the ins-and-outs of his charismatic abilities – it was a more complicated aspect to his mutation than _'grab stuff, blow it up'_ – his charm abilities did seem to be related to attraction.

How far could he press his luck? Rogue's face was still blank, eyes dazzled; Gambit's mind raced. Could he convince Rogue to let him go? Tell him where Jubilee was? Maybe he could turn the tables right now. "_Mon cherie_?" he whispered. "Why don't you take off these cuffs?"

She actually took out the cardkey, though hands were faltering and unsteady; Gambit's heart hammered in his chest. Then, abruptly, Rogue's look darkened.

Damn! Maybe he could still hold her. He kept his voice low, almost a whisper. "What's the matter, _m'amour_?"

She didn't say anything, simply took a swing at him. Gambit instinctively tried to raise one arm to defend himself; remembered they were cuffed behind his back; and had to turn his chin and go with her punch, though it made stars burst behind his eyes and his ears sing with pain. He supposed that he deserved that. Maybe he should have been grateful she kept her gloves on.

"_Don't_," Rogue said simply, and blackly, and if looks could kill she would have been slitting his throat. Gambit _didn't_, and there was a long, extremely uncomfortable silence.

"Hope you been good to Jubilee, anyway," Gambit said, finally, watching the building's floors click down, down, down. "Dat little girl's been through enough already."

Rogue glanced at him, searching for further treachery, then finally shrugged. "She's with Nightcrawler," she replied. "He's lookin' after her."

Gambit snorted. "Dat fuzzy blue elf? I wouldn't trust Kurt Wagner with a pet rock. De Nightcrawler I know -- "

"The 'Nightcrawler you know's entirely constructed from fights an' scraps," Rogue pointed out, crossing her arms across the front of her sweater. "One of the downsides of constantly betraying your allies. You just can't get a proper idea how they've grown."

Gambit snorted. "Can he even speak English?'

Rogue rolled her eyes. "'Course he can." The elevator doors slid open; they walked down the hall. "Kurt's turned out a very _responsible_ –"

"_HELP ME!"_

Gambit snapped his chin up, red eyes wide. _Jubilee. _He glanced at Rogue; she looked suddenly flustered, panicked.

"Ah – was that? – " she began, glancing nervously at Gambit.

"PLEASE, HELP!"

"Where is she?" Gambit blurted.

"This way," Rogue breathed, clearly fighting to stay calm, and dashed down the hallway, Remy in tow.

There were audible, if incomprehensible, cries coming from behind a door at the end of the hall; they grew in volume, and Gambit was sure he could make out Jubilee's voice. Finally Rogue stopped, panting, in front of the door, fumbled with her cardkey. She swiped the piece of plastic and shoved her way in, and Gambit braced himself, not sure what he was about to see, or whether he might be too late.

000

"Help me!" Jubilee screamed. "Please, help!"

"You cannot cry for help now, vench!" Kurt roared. His face was demonic, voice feral. "There is no escape from your fate!"

"In that case," Jubilee declared, "We must DUEL!" She leapt off the oak bedstead with a suicidal enthusiasm.

Kurt, rather than BAMFing from his location on top of the bureau, also made a dramatic leap. "I accept your challege, Captain Lee!" He snarled, with his most elaborate bow yet.

"And if I win," Jubilee exulted, waving her arms around as dramatically as she could – she didn't have Nightcrawler's talent in that department -- "Then I shall be known as the finest pirate on the high seas!"

"Ah, yes, but you shall _not_ vin!" Kurt hissed back.

"Probably not, but I'm not trying to _vin_, I'm trying to _win_!"

"Dare not mock Captain Nightcrawler of ze _Errol, _foolish vench!" Kurt warned her in a stage whisper, remaining very dignified. "Let ze duel… COMMENCE!"

The duel commenced, and they both glared at each other furiously. There was a long pause.

"What are we going to use for swords?" Jubilee asked. "I don't think this duel was very well thought-out."

Kurt furrowed his brow. He appeared to agree. "Perhaps ve could pillow-fight for dominion of the high seas," he suggested finally, gesturing at Jubilee's ship – the bed, which had been temporarily renamed _The USS Sparky_.

"Please," Jubilee said, wrinkling her nose. "That is a crap plan. Pirates do not have pillow fights. Why don't we play checkers? That's what The Killers did."

Kurt opened his mouth to reply – and then there was the sound of a familiar voice coughing. Jubilee's heart leapt up into her throat. She whirled towards the now-open door.

"Am I interrupting something?" Gambit asked dryly.

He was black-and-blue. He had been bleeding. He sounded as though it hurt to even move his tongue. _But he was alive. _Jubilee ran to him, threw her arms around him, and burst into tears, no longer caring who saw her cry, not caring that Gambit didn't embrace her in return.

"I thought you were dead," she sobbed. "I thought you were dead, I thought – I thought – " Gambit bent over a little bit to rest his chin on the top of her head, and, with a start, Jubilee realized that his hands were cuffed behind his back.

"She's _fragile_?" It was a woman's wry voice.

Jubilee felt Gambit's chest jump as he chuckled; he straightened up a little, though he managed to touch Jubilee's hand a little, behind his back. "He's _responsible_?" he said, with equal irony.

"Kurt, what the hell is this?" It was the woman again. "Thought Ah told you to keep an eye on her."

"I _vas_ keeping an eye on her," Kurt protested weakly. He was trying to subtly remove the bedsheet he had been using as a pirate cloak. Unfortunately for Kurt, there was really no subtle way to do so. "Pirates have eyes."

"Ah cannot believe this," the woman groaned.

Jubilee backed away from Gambit reluctantly, looked to see who his companion was – and squeaked in fright, stumbling backwards. _Rogue._

"Oh, cut out the theatrics," Rogue said crossly, and turned her attention back to Wagner. "Ah hope you're ashamed of yourself, Kurt. What the hell is Sinister gonna say about this?"

"Perhaps you do not have to tell him?" Kurt suggested in a tiny voice, tail cutting the air in nervous arcs. He attempted to tidy a bit, kicking cannonballs under the bed. Rogue watched his foot.

"'Course Ah have to tell him. Ah'm supposed to be in charge now that Mama -- why are there _oranges_ all over the floor?"

"Zey are not oranges, zey are cannonballs," Kurt corrected her weakly.

"_Pet rock_," Gambit said cryptically.

Jubilee had no idea what that meant, but it apparently held some significance for Rogue, who bit her lip, glaring at Gambit. "You can just shut right up," she snapped. "Kurt, you clean up this mess. Jubilee, you come with me an' Gambit. Doc McCoy wants to see the both of you."

Kurt, who had been in the midst of making the bed, froze. "Rogue?" he said quietly.

Her tone wasn't kind. "_What_?"

Kurt wouldn't look at Rogue – or at Jubilee. "Does she really – have to do that right now?" he mumbled, wringing the grey wool blanket wretchedly in his hands. "I thought – maybe she could rest a bit before – "

"Gripe, gripe, complain, complain," Rogue grumbled. "If she don't have the strength to play pirate when Beast's through, Ah ain't gonna shed any tears over it."

Jubilee glanced from Rogue to Nightcrawler and back. "What do you mean?" she asked slowly, but Rogue didn't answer and Kurt wouldn't even meet her gaze. "What's he going to do?"

Gambit touched her shoulder gently. "Don't worry, _chere_," he said, with an assurance he didn't feel. "We come this far together. Remy'll protect you."

Rogue's smile was barbed. "Ah'd like to see you try."


	11. Back At The Ranch

It was a warzone and, this time, Wolverine didn't feel like making peace.

Bodies littered the ground around him – a killing field, blood soaking the cuffs of his jeans. Some of the bodies he knew. Some he didn't know. Some he knew he had known once, but now knew no more.

Some of the bodies were still alive, but not for long. With a roar of fury, Wolverine popped six silver claws, relishing the sting in the webs between his fingers. He hurled himself bodily atop a beautiful woman in a scarlet robe; she was dead before she hit the ground, and the execution was so masterful that Wolverine wasn't even bothered by the cliché.

One left. He didn't turn on his opponent, yet. He knew what he would see. Those sharp, animal ears caught the _click _of a telescopic staff, branching outwards. That bourbon-scratched voice, low and amused, lined with watered silk. "KitKat break, _mon ami_?"

"The only thing that's gonna break is you, Cajun," Wolverine said quietly. He still didn't turn around.

Gambit scoffed amused laughter. "You talk a good game, _homme_," he granted generously. "Is dat what you do now? Wit _d'escalier_?"

"I'll show you what I do now, Gumbo," Wolverine muttered. He could feel his top lip pulling over his teeth, and wasn't sure whether he was snarling or smiling. They felt the same, recently. "But what I do now isn't very nice."

Gambit snorted. "Stop talking and turn around, _homme_. We'll see how tough you really are. Or you afraid of what lies between us?"

"I know what lies between us," Wolverine said, and it was true. He steeled himself to that image. Forced himself to turn around.

On the cement between the men, the last two standing, was the corpse that had started it all. The jewel; the pain-in-the-ass; the Asian Lady Of Shallot.

Jubilation Lee.

Wolverine caught his breath. She looked so peaceful. _As though she were asleep. Just like Mar – NO._ He killed the thought before it was born, launched himself at Gambit, and managed to hold himself back before he sliced right through Jean Grey.

He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. The Cajun had vanished. "Jean," he gasped, and realized his chest was heaving, hitching for breath, and that he was soaked in sweat.

Jean hadn't even flinched when he came at her; her expression remained unreadable. She gazed past Wolverine, at Jubilee on the floor. "How long have you been in here, Logan?" she asked quietly, not looking at him.

"I don't know," Wolverine mumbled, wiping the sweat from his brow with the mat of hair on the back of his hand. He felt – he didn't know how he felt, but he wished Jean hadn't seen this. "How long were you watching?"

"I don't know," she echoed, but she wasn't smiling. She looked around at the corpses piled up on heaps of concrete, piles of garbage, a broken asphalt road. "You did all this?"

"Yeah," Wolverine muttered. There was no point lying to her. Jean Grey was a telepath; it was enough of a courtesy that she was bothering to pose the question.

Jean snapped her wide green eyes up to stare at Logan, then, and cast a righteous pointing finger towards Jubilee's body. She looked disturbed, and upset, and… disappointed. Wolverine felt sick. Maybe he was dehydrated.

"And did you finish her, too?" Jean's voice was quiet.

Wolverine barked a laugh, then, and turned away from the doctor. "_Finish_? She's the one who _started_ this." He lifted his chin, sniffing at the air, and turned narrow eyes on Jean Grey. "Bring Gambit back here," he said flatly.

Jean shook her head, and her eyes unfocussed as she telekinetically reached for the controls of the Danger Room. For a second, Wolverine hoped against hope that she would leave however she had come, leave him to fight Gambit in peace and in pieces. But, no; the scenes of carnage faded, the fires and bodies and blood, and Jubilee's peaceful still little form, until Jean and Logan stood together in the core of that stark steel room, with the walls closing in on him.

He turned his back on Jean. "In that case," he said flatly, SNAKTing his claws in, "I'm gonna go shower."

"Wait, Logan," Jean blurted, and her tone was no longer imperious or disapproving. It was pleading, and since it was Jean, it stopped Wolverine before he'd taken a step.

He couldn't say no to her, he reflected bitterly, but he didn't have to pretend he liked it. "What?" He growled, not turning around.

Jean didn't speak for a long few seconds. When she did, her voice was low and pleading. "I'm worried about you, Logan," she said softly. "We all are."

"Worried about_ me?_" Wolverine said ironically – he did turn a little, then, so that Jean could see his face, see how ridiculous he found that. "Hell. I'm here, with the X-Men, safe and sound, eating three goddamn square meals a day. You got jack squat reason to worry 'bout me, sister. How about that little girl who got snatched out from under our noses?"

"Xavier has people _night and day_ working for Jubilee," Jean said desperately. "Gambit, too – "

Wolverine barked another soldier's laugh. "You got no reason to worry about that turncoat, Jean. Am I still the only one who's figured that out?"

"Listen to me," Jean said – not as though she'd ignored his words, just as though she was choosing not to address them. "This is morbid, this… skulking around, not talking to anybody." She made a helpless, hopeless gesture with her hands. "And _this – this_ was frightening. I'm scared for you, Logan. Won't you please talk to me?"

"I got nothing to say," Wolverine's voice sounded emotionless, even to him. He barely recognized it in his own ears. "There's been enough talk. You and Chuck know where I stand." He turned his back – and a second later, to his unadulterated horror, he heard the soft sounds of Jean beginning to weep.

"Please don't shut me out." When she spoke it was a feather, a sakura blossom on a Tokyo wind… he was waxing poetic. He shut his brain up. Her voice was so tiny, so sad. "I feel like you're shutting me out, Logan, and if you do that, there's nothing I can do to help you." She sniffled miserably. "I won't go where I'm not wanted."

He wanted so badly to comfort her. To stroke that auburn hair, hold her delicate frame against him, her brown velvet blouse against his skin. He wanted to help _somebody_; he'd already failed Jubilee.

God, he wanted to hold her. But he didn't know his own strength and he'd soak her in sweat and, most of all, girls like Jean didn't take any comfort in guys like him.

So he couldn't. So he did the next best thing. "Dad," he said, turning to her.

Jean's eyes and nose were stained rosy with emotion. "What?"

"She called me Dad," Wolverine said. His voice, again, sounded hollow and tuneless in his ears, and he already didn't trust himself to say anything more.

"Oh, Logan," Jean sighed – forgetting her own pain instantly. So frustrating, so utterly like her. "You mean Jubilee?" He nodded. Jean walked to him, lay one comforting hand gently on his shoulder. He had to restrain himself from shaking it off. "You must feel awful." He shrugged. "We will get her back, Logan," Jean said gently. "You've got to trust Professor Xavier. I have the utmost faith that – "

Wolverine _did_ shake her off, at that. "Chuck can do what he wants, Jean," he said flatly.  
"I let that girl turn me into family. Only family she had. I even let myself enjoy it, as though I had any right." He had to fight the urge to pop his claws out of sheer frustration. "It's my fault if anything's happened to her. And it's my job to save her. Not the X-Men's."

"Then let us help you as your _friends_," Jean said desperately. She caught his arm as he tried to walk away again. "We're that too, as well as X-Men. I'm not here in a professional capacity, Logan. I'm not here because I wanted to use the Danger Room. I'm here because I'm_ worried _about you. Because I'm your friend. Because I want to help. And Ororo – and Scott – and Charles -- "

Wolverine could _see_ her tearing up again. It was very alarming. "Okay," he mumbled. "Okay. I get it." He paused; the words came reluctantly. "As _friends_, you can help. As long as you get that I don't _need_ help. As long as you get that it's my fight."

Jean nodded eagerly, and that witch-red hair trembled in eddy. "Done deal," she said with hesitant mischief, smiling her Irish smile. "And you'll start eating with us again? And try to sleep at night? And stop thinking about how this is your fault every hour of every day?"

Wolverine frowned. "You have been messing around in my head," he accused.

"No," Jean said, rolling her eyes. "I just have half a brain. Anyone can see what you're thinking, Logan. And anyone could tell you it's time you stopped. We'll do this, but we'll do it together. Okay?"

Wolverine sighed. "Okay."

"Good." Jean cast a quick, one-armed hug around his shoulder – Wolverine winced on her behalf, as he still hadn't showered. "Hit the showers," she suggested, apparently having noticed herself, "And then we'll got get something to eat. I'll meet you by the doors." She turned herself, then, began to walk away.

Wolverine debated remaining silent, then; Jean didn't have to know what he was thinking. Honesty won out. "Okay," he clarified, "Except for one thing."

Jean cast a green glance back over her shoulder.

"The Cajun is mine," Wolverine said. "That's my score to settle. And I'll be doing it alone, and hell to anyone who gets in my way." He glanced at her. "You tell Scott that. I'll do the rest the X-Men way, but with the Cajun, I settle it on my terms."

Jean's smile had faded. "And what are you terms, Logan?" she asked him softly, after a second.

"Dunno," Wolverine said. "Haven't thought of something that really satisfies me yet." He turned his back on her appalled face and, whistling dismally, went to hit the showers.

_A/N: My high school history teacher taught me the phrase "_comment de l'escalier_". It means "staircase humor", as in things you wish you'd said but now don't have a chance to. I think it is a spiffy little saying and even spiffier in Paris-ese. I've probably got it wrong now anyway, it has been a godawful long time._


	12. Helpless

Gambit was cool and calm as Rogue led them downstairs, so relaxed that he barely looked at Jubilee, and Jubilee found herself wondering whether he was angry, whether she had done something wrong.

On a basement floor so far underground that it felt subterranean, Rogue marched Gambit and Jubilee off the elevator, into a cold, sterile anteroom lined with cells and cages. Wordlessly, the unsmiling woman carded one open, jerked her head for Gambit and Jubilee to enter, gloved arms crossed across her chest. Gambit flashed Rogue a sly grin as he sauntered behind the wire mesh, thumbs casually hooked over the top of his trench coat pockets; Jubilee hesitated, but followed him when Rogue spared her an unamused glare. She stumbled in after Gambit, and Rogue locked the door behind them.

"Y'all can make yourselves comfortable," the Southern woman told them, although Jubilee couldn't see how possibly. "Doc McCoy will call when he's ready."

"Let me guess," said Gambit, smirking. "We shouldn't hold our breath?"

Rogue raised an eyebrow as she sauntered back to the elevator, smoothing her gloves. "You're more'n welcome to, Cajun. Ah'll be keen t'see what color you've turned when Ah get back."

Gambit smiled lazily, to Jubilee's amazement; he leaned against the cell wall as the elevator doors closed on Rogue's pale, petulant face. The instant she was hidden, however, he sprang to his feet with catlike grace, prowling the perimeter of the cell, testing the strength of the bars with terse hands, a look on his face like pure murder. The hairs on the back of Jubilee's neck stood up. He was acting like a caged animal -- not in the snarling, tooth-and-claw way that Wolverine did, though that was frightening too, but with a sort of silent, tight-wound fury like a panther, a hawk… Jubilee had to shake herself out of her rabbit-eyed reverie, remind herself to stay alert, remind herself that she was in some serious trouble. She flinched when Gambit rounded on her -- but his face was charming, beguiling again. He was almost smiling.

"_Mon pauvre bijou_. You all right, _petite_? All in one piece?"

"In as many pieces as I'm usually in," Jubilee replied, with a weak smile. "You?"

"Never better, _chere_," he said, his eyes glinting through the black bruises that ringed them. "Takes more den dat woman scorned to worry Remy Lebeau. Now listen close." The humor fell out of his tone, left it flat, his eyes raking over Jubilee. "We don't got much time. You gonna have to talk to Doc McCoy." He sighed, pushing the loose hair out of his eyes, trying to hide the way he cradled his bruised forehead. "Be honest wit' him, but don't brag. Underplay everything. Don' lie, but don' offer information." He hesitated. "And whatever you do, _chere_, don' try to be brave. Only ends foolishly, dis kind of situation."

"Okay," Jubilee said. She didn't know how Gambit knew what advice to give, but she was desperate, and more than willing to latch onto any survival tactics that were being offered. "Not brave? Have you ever known me to be brave about anything?"

Gambit did chuckle at that. "Don't undersell yourself, bijou, you're a tough little stray cat. Got some claws on you."

"I'm feeling a bit declawed at the moment," Jubilee admitted. She slid down the wall till she sat on the cell's white tile floor. The cold pushed through her jeans and chilled her. "Gambit, how do you know this stuff?"

"What stuff?"

"This… Doctor McCoy stuff," Jubilee said. "You know, no offense or anything, you're still awesome. Super-awesome. But Wolverine and me pretty much just… grabbed you off the side of the road. How have you suddenly got the 411 on Brotherhood-related events?"

"I got some experience wit' de Brotherhood." Gambit adjusted a leather glove, not looking at her; his tone suggested that Jubilee didn't question him further.

It might have been the dire circumstances, but Jubilee cared less than usual about his tone. "What kind of experience is that, exactly?"

Gambit didn't answer. Abruptly, he rounded on Jubilee; Jubilee feared again that his patience had worn out, but the look on his worn face was gentle. He crouched to her level, took her trembling – _trembling? Lame! --_ hand and kissed it gently. "Just hang in dere a little longer, _chere_," he murmured. "De Gambit'll get us out of here yet. He been in worse places."

Jubilee could practically feel her IQ bursting into many multicolored bubbles and floating away. She didn't, on the other hand, notice that she had completely forgotten her original question. "Oh, yeah," she babbled, pleased that even in these hellish circumstances, Gambit's touch could turn her into a blithering idiot. "For sure. Expert hang-outer here. I've got hanging out on my resume. No worries."

Gambit chuckled in that honey-dark tone; Jubilee's knees went a little weak. She was glad that she was sitting. "Dat's my jewel."

There was a brief pause. "I'm sorry about this, Gambit," Jubilee said. She dragged her hand along the wire mesh of the cell walls, idly, just so she wouldn't have to hear that deadly silence.

Gambit's glance was curious. "'Bout what, _chere_?"

"All of this," Jubilee said softly. "I caught you and Wolverine up in this Brotherhood shit. This isn't your fight." She laughed weakly. "Maybe that sounds super Saving-Private-Ryan, but that's how I feel. You guys didn't ask for this."

Gambit looked suddenly guilty. "No, chere, ain't your fault I'm here." He snorted. "Managed dat all on my own, believe it or not."

"What do you mean?" Jubilee asked him again, straightening up and looking Gambit in the eye.

Gambit hesitated. "Might be time I come clean wit' you, chere," he said slowly.

"I'm afraid that may have to wait," replied a genial voice belonging to someone Jubilee couldn't see. The elevator doors dinged and slid open. "At least until we're through here. I'm already well behind on my appointments and – my stars and garters – it's past my lunch." Gambit didn't do or say anything, but Jubilee saw his jaw clench.

"Doctor McCoy?" she tried to ask, but her voice stuck in her throat and came out strangled.

And that was _before_ she saw the creature that stepped out from the elevator.

Doctor Henry McCoy was well over six feet tall, blue-furred, probably red of tooth and claw. The largest lab coat Jubilee had even seen strained at the seams to contain him. He looked as though he could bite Jubilee in half -- and take detailed notes on the process, judging by the clipboard cradled between two massive paws, and the curiously Lennonesque spectacles hovering on the end of his short, feline nose. Gambit didn't look surprised.

The _thing_ – Doctor McCoy -- looked up from its clipboard, delicately adjusted its glasses, and questioned – purely a formality, considering there was no-one in the room but Jubilee and Gambit – "Jubilation Lee?"

Jubilee pushed mutely to her feet. The beast smiled at her and strode to the holding cell, pretending not to notice the way Jubilee pressed against the wall as he unlocked the door. "I'm Doctor Henry McCoy. Please follow me."

And she did follow him – down a hallway, through a door, and out of the sight of Gambit, though she sent the Cajun a last frightened glance, and he sent her a reassuring, cocky smile in return, winking a ruby eye. After that, Jubilee couldn't keep track of where they were going; Doctor McCoy set a brisk pace and one hallway kitty-cornered another until Jubilee's spatial awareness was fritzed completely. All she could do was mutely tag behind the doctor until they had abruptly turned into a large laboratory, and McCoy drew to a sudden halt, causing Jubilee to stumble. He put out a worried hand to steady her, and again pretended not to notice when Jubilee flinched away.

"Please take a seat and make yourself comfortable," McCoy said gravely, gesturing out over the lab, steel and sterile and soulless. Jubilee looked around and saw no seats. "On the table, please, Miss Lee." He was writing something on his clipboard, barely looking at her.

Jubilee looked at the table. It was covered with a clean white sheet of paper, just like the one in her old GP's office – _butcher's paper_, she thought, before she could stop herself. Worse, there were leather cuffs on either side of the table, and black-leather belts, like something out of a horror movie, or one of those gross magazines the guys in her school had always been reading. She hesitated. "Doctor McCoy – "

"Just Beast is fine," he said, glancing at her to see what was taking so long. He noticed the direction of Jubilee's gaze, and chuckled. "You may have a seat, Miss Lee. I doubt we'll have any cause for those. You're hardly a dangerous offender." Jubilee sat slowly on the table; the white sheet crinkled like tissue paper. "Can I get you anything to drink?" Beast said kindly. "Tea? Coffee?" He wrinkled his bestial nose. "Or perhaps a Coke would be more to your liking."

"Oolong," Jubilee murmured, "If you have it."

"My God!" Beast said, with a cheerful hand to his massive chest. "Not only beautiful, but a _gourmande_. I'll have to be on my guard, or my animal instincts may get the better of me." He noticed the look on her face. "Joking! I was joking. Really, you look as though you expect to be killed."

"Is that ridiculous?" Jubilee muttered.

"Yes," McCoy said, handing her a Styrofoam cup steaming with loose green tea, "Particularly as you are aware of how much trouble has been taken to procure your abilities. Sinister has spent into the tens of thousands of dollars arranging your arrival. Mere homicide could be achieved for significantly less, were that his intention."

Jubilee opened her mouth to reply and then closed it again. Well, it was true.

"Now, our new debmutante – " he pronounced it to rhyme with 'debutante' – "It's occurred to me that we know almost nothing about you. Why don't we begin by your telling me a bit about yourself?"

Jubilee bit her lip and fidgeted. She hadn't forgotten Gambit's warning, and anyway, the smell of formaldehyde on the air was enough to keep her on guard. "What do you want to know?" she asked carefully.

"Everything, for the present," Beast said cheerfully. "'_Start at the beginning, and when you get to the end, stop_.'"

"Lewis Carroll." Jubilee smiled despite herself. The old, familiar lines were like a friend, in this cold steel trap of a room.

"That's right!" Beast agreed, with an exuberant – and therefore somewhat frightening – smile. "_Alice Through The Looking Glass_. You're a very learned young lady." McCoy settled down on a three-legged stool opposite her; it groaned dangerously under his weight, but he paid it no mind, merely sipping his coffee and smiling at Jubilee. "In fact, why not start there? What grade are you – _were_ you – in?"

"Um, Eleven." Jubilee bit her lip. "Technically."

"Technically?'

"I stopped going to school a while ago," Jubilee replied. She paused, but Beast merely raised an eyebrow and waited. "It's not like I didn't enjoy it or anything," she hastened to add. "I mean, yeah, I'm a mall rat, point taken. But I went to this really cute private school. We had the most J-Rock uniforms."

"I see," Beast said, though he looked as though Jubilee had lost him at 'J-Rock'. "And?..."

"And, well…" Jubilee hesitated. She sipped at the oolong and nearly choked as a wave of nostalgia washed over her with the grassy taste. _Her mother's smile, her father's starched shirts, her summer trips to China. Bike racks and moon cakes and incense from the Buddhist temple by her grandfather's family's house…_ she missed them so much that it was a physical feeling, a fist closed in the low part of her stomach.

"Miss Lee?" Beast sounded faraway. "Are you all right?"

"What?" Jubilee forced herself back to reality. "Yeah, totally. Sorry. Anyway, my parents and me agreed that it would be in my… best interests… if I stopped going to school."

Beast's brow had furrowed. "It can be difficult when one's mutation manifests," he agreed. He gazed at his furred forearms. "For some of us, more than others."

"No no no," Jubilee hastened to assure him, "It wasn't that. We just decided it was -- time for me to get a tutor, so I could concentrate on my real job."

"Stage parents?" Beast guessed gravely.

Jubilee snorted. "God no. Like I'd hang around for _that_." She smiled a little bit. "I'm a gymnast. Well – _was_."

"Really?" said Beast. He lifted his coffee cup to her. "My congratulations. Any good?"

"I guess," Jubilee shrugged. "My coach was talking about training me for the Olympics."

Beast's eyes popped behind his spectacles. "Good god, are you serious? Let me see."

"See what?" Jubilee said cagily. Gambit had said not to show off.

Beast waved a hand impatiently. "A handspring," he said, "A cartwheel. Anything."

"Um, okay," Jubilee said. She stood up awkwardly. "I might kind of suck. It's been a while." She closed her eyes, concentrated, scrunched her toes in her platforms on the cold tile floor. Not exactly ideal performance conditions. Yet Jubilee's heart was pounding, and not just out of fear -- it had been so long since she'd had anyone to perform for. She took a deep breath, tightened her torso, and sprang forward, head above her hands, three-inch heels dangling bewilderedly over her head.

There was an odd slapping noise. Jubilee craned her neck from her un-ideal vantage point on the ground and realized it was Doctor McCoy, who had burst into applause. "My stars and garters." He was smiling brightly and genuinely and Jubilee, grinning a little foolishly, made a graceless exit and scooted back onto the table. "My dear, I'm truly astounded, you're as gifted as Petrova! And so why is it that I see you here, now, before me, rather than on television during my coffee break?"

_So much for excited_. Jubilee stared at her feet, trying to shake off old humiliation. "My coach fired me," she mumbled. "Well, not fired, I guess. But he wouldn't work with me."

"Foolish man. Why not?"

"My mutation," Jubilee replied. "Apparently he thought it would give me an… unfair advantage. Or that I could 'exploit my opponents' weaknesses'. Or something."

"Most unfortunate, but why not simply take your talents elsewhere?"

"Because," Jubilee snapped, "Just throwing me out on my rear wasn't enough. He went public with the info. Said it was the 'only moral thing to do'. Like I was some kind of dangerous offender or something. I couldn't make it past the wait list at the community center, much less find a private pro willing to work with me."

"Another youth," Beast said, shaking his head, "Martyred for the mutant cause. I'm truly sorry. What did you do after that?"

"I shopped," Jubilee said, with a tight, bitter smile. "What else does a bored rich girl do in LA?"

"I see," Beast said again. He took off his glasses and polished them on his sleeve. "Well, I can't promise anything, but we may be able to do something about that. It's too late for the Olympics, but it's possible we could find you a coach. And I'm sure there would be competitions, at least at the local level…."

Jubilee struggled to find her voice, and did so only with difficulty. "A coach?" she squeaked. "Seriously?" The tissue paper under her butt crinkled as she leaned forward.

"I can't promise anything," Beast repeated, but his eyes were twinkling. He carefully replaced his glasses. "But that's neither here nor there. Your coach took it badly. Your parents?..."

Jubilee paused. "Have you ever heard of the Los Angeles Lees?" she asked finally.

"I have indeed."

"That's them," Jubilee tried to smile. "And I mean, if you're heard of them, you know how they took it. They were great. Donated money to mutant rights, organized protests – a parade, one time…" she faltered. "And you know what happened to them."

"They passed away before their time," Beast said softly. "Quite abruptly, as I recall."

"They were murdered," Jubilee said flatly. "There's no need to fancify it. Someone broke in and spray-painted the walls and trashed the place and – Dad and Mama – " she broke off. "Good for you Brotherhood guys, at any rate," she said, with a grim little smile. "Mama and Dad were totally opposed to government orchestration of mutant power. They said it was treating us like animals." She glanced at Beast's blue fur. "No offense," she added half-heartedly.

"None taken," Beast said firmly. "I wish to extend my most sincere condolences to you, Miss Lee. You parents did a great deal of very good work for our cause, and I believe they would be very proud of you today."

Jubilee shrugged. "Maybe," she said. "Maybe they are. Anything is possible. Maybe I've got feathers."

"Peter S. Beagle!" Beast said, more delighted by the minute. "_The Last Unicorn_."

"Yeah," Jubilee confirmed softly. "Dad used to read that to me at night. I mean – when I was little."

"Then he was a wise man who raised his daughter well." Jubilee didn't dare look up – her only hope was to fix her blurry eyes on one spot on the tile, and hope that they didn't brim over. "Jubilee," Beast said softly, and placed one furred paw on her hand. For the first time, she didn't bother to pull away. "I'm truly sorry for your loss, and for the unfortunate circumstances under which the Brotherhood acquired you. You've gone through more hardships than should be required of any young woman. But listen to me." He squeezed her hand. "This is the end of it. Allow me to assure you that your fortunes have decidedly taken a turn for the better." Jubilee nodded, sniffling, and Beast dropped her hand. "The Brotherhood appreciates you," he said gently, "Both for your powers, and who you are as a person. If you choose to, you'll be able to make a difference here."

"Yeah," Jubilee sniffed. "That's exactly what Xavier said, and look how well that turned out."

"Charles Xavier has his own approach," Beast said wryly, "And it's really an entirely ineffective one. The X-Men like to think they're making a difference; it's conducive to their own peace of mind. But the Brotherhood is really going to change things." His tone turned thoughtful. "Yet as lucky as you are to be offered a place here, Miss Lee, we're also very lucky to have you. Your cup's brimming over with luck." He smiled at her winningly. Jubilee managed to send a watery smile back. "At any rate," Beast said briskly, straightening up and checking his watch, "We're really almost done here. I'll conduct a brief assessment of your powers, and then I'll send you along to get some much-needed rest."

"Thanks," Jubilee murmured. The tears had mostly stopped; she sniffed experimentally. "You know," she said, laughing a little, "Gambit made it sound like you're the better half of Satan. But you don't seem that bad."

"Well," said Beast genially, "I appreciate your saying so. And I've enjoyed your company very much. Now shall we get on with the tests?"

"Sure," said Jubilee. She stretched. "Sooner I'm out of here, the better. No offense."

"None taken. I just need you to lie back and keep still." Beast settled a pair of reading-glasses – no, dark glasses, with tinted lenses -- onto his nose, scrolling through a page of information on the screen; his tone was academic. "If the procedure becomes at all uncomfortable or painful for you, please let me know."

Jubilee hesitated, then jerkily lowered herself to lie flat on the table, feeling her ponytail pulled out of shape beneath her head.

"A few very small questions," Beast said. "Your height?"

"Five six."

"Your weight? My apologies in advance for asking any woman the question."

Jubilee shrugged – as best one could, lying down. "One fifteen. Hence the chicken legs."

"These will be cold," Beast warned her.

"What?" Jubilee craned her neck.

"Electrodes," Beast said patiently, and pushed one against either of her temples. "Don't worry, you'll have a chance to check your hair once we're done."

"You're not going to electrocute me or something, are you?" Jubilee asked. She was getting a worried, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Of course not." Beast was scratching something on his clipboard. "Now, if you could describe for me your own impression of your powers? Just for comparison's sake."

"Um," said Jubilee. She tried to think carefully, but what was there to think about? "I make flashy lights and I break stuff. It's not super-exciting. Just plasma."

"And hell is just a sauna," Beast said cheerfully, scribbling away.

"_Ten Things I Hate About You_," Jubilee said. "Hey, you can't quote that. That's not classic literature."

"Ah, but it's based on a Shakespeare play, which means it counts," Beast chuckled. "And besides, who am I to turn down a chance to speak of the lovely Julia Stiles? Her eyes kept me awake at night during my time at med school."

"I totally do not need to know that," Jubilee said.

"My apologies," Beast said, sounding amused. He flicked a switch on the computer console beside the table. Abruptly the lights in the lab dimmed; a faint but discernable electric hum scissored through the air. "Are you ready to begin?"

The cold steel pressed against the gap between the bottom of her pants and her boots. Jubilee glanced at the scientist; Beast wasn't looking at her; he was digging in the pocket of his enormous lab coat for a pen. Eventually, apparently taking her silence for consent, Beast reached for the control panel.

"Hold on!" Jubilee blurted – just instinct, not even knowing what she was going to say – and Beast looked at her curiously. Jubilee bit her lip, and whispered hesitantly, "If I do, you'll stop, right?"

Beast blinked at her. "Do what?"

"If I tell you you're hurting me. You'll stop, then, right?"

Beast chuckled a little, as though she'd said something precocious. He keyed something into the controls of the electrodes and stood back.

Even before the pain, it was awful. Jubilee's whole body, head down, shuddered and went stiff, wound tight as a guitar string, all her knuckles so hyperextended that she feared her fingers would break. Against her will, without her help, multicolored fireworks sprang from the tips of her fingers, dancing over the walls in sick, frightened shades of sea green. McCoy made an intrigued clicking sound with his tongue and typed something into the controls of the computer. Fireworks and light ripped from her hands and fingers, with more and more intensity, so that her bones and muscles felt shredded and weak. "Stop!"

"What?" Beast asked impatiently, glancing down on her. He didn't stop anything.

"Please," Jubilee cried. She wasn't even thinking about what she was saying. "Let's do this later. I'll do it, I will. But not right now. Please, this hurts!" She cut herself off in horror when she realized that light was beginning to lance, not only out of her fingers and toes, but from her open mouth.

"Miss Lee," Beast said flatly, "I had hoped we wouldn't need to use the straps. Please don't see it necessary to prove me wrong."

And then there was nothing else to say – Jubilee, far too weak now to get up or run, could only lie on the table and whimper as the light tore from her tendons, sea-green, periwinkle, then dead white, so bright she had to close her eyes. She was beginning to feel dizzy and lightheaded, as though she hadn't eaten or slept. And then the pain came, and it was all Jubilee could do not to scream and scream, until the blindingly bright-white world faded to a merciful black.

_Falling, falling, falling._


	13. Don't Drink The Kool Aid

Gambit was sure he had a cigarette somewhere. After all, he didn't smoke all that much. Surely he had something in the very bottom of his trench pocket. Nope. Or his jeans pocket. No, not there, either. Maybe something had fallen into that lame-ass hipster hidden pocket in his boots? _N'est pas_. Gambit was officially without a coffin nail of any kind, which was tragic, as he could see the coffin coming. "_Mon dieu_," he mumbled, slouching against the cell wall. "Don' a man get his last smoke?"

It was ten minutes since Jubilee had been taken, Gambit knew -- an internal clock clicked in the burglar's machinery of his brain. He couldn't hear her screaming; that was good. Would she survive? Gambit let himself muse, briefly, but he didn't seriously entertain the notion that she wouldn't. Jubilee was born to survive, the way he was born to steal and Rogue was born to hurt. The real question was whether Gambit himself would live. Not that he valued life overly much for its own sake, but, like money, there were just so many things you could do with it. And, after all, if he didn't survive, he couldn't help Jubilee. She could end up trapped here. _The phrase 'a fate worse than death' springs to mind._ Speaking of death, Gambit was feeling sure that he would be a goner if he couldn't find some nicotine.

"Remy Lebeau."

And then, Gambit knew that he was just a goner. He took a second to steady his voice. "Sinister."

"Mmm."

"You got a smoke?'

"I hardly think that placing yourself further in my debt is an appropriate behavior for a man in your situation."

"An' what's my situation, _ami_?" Gambit turned in his cage, leaned against the bars, an insolent smile carefully plastered on his face. "Hey, _homme_. Time been kind to you. You look good."

Well, he didn't, really. No one could describe the bone-pale man, eyes glowing like nuclear fallout, as looking good. Terrifying, magnificent, Ragnarok incarnate -- those were all a go. But Sinister didn't look _good_. What he did look, Gambit noted grimly, was exactly the _same_. Ten years hadn't put a line in his face or a crick in his spine. And, while Gambit could count his own back-payments to the reaper – his reckless behavior hadn't changed, but his body punished him more each day – he couldn't puzzle any out of Sinister's black-clad frame, not down to a goddamn crow's foot.

"Yes," Sinister said coolly. "I can't say the same for you."

Gambit shrugged and leaned against the cell wall. "I romanced Mother Nature, _mon ami_," he said with a shrug. "Father Time got jealous."

"And he's a dangerous man," Sinister noted, hooking the blade of his glare into Gambit's feet and dragging it upwards until Lebeau felt flayed. "You would have done well to stay with us, Gambit. You'd have turned into less of a sad has-been."

Gambit snorted. "You hung out with T. S. Eliot, Nathan. _You_ callin' _me_ de has-been?"

"You're wearing armor, Gambit." Sinister's voice was amused and ruthless. The madman was standing so close, just on the other side of the bars – yet, though Gambit could barely admit it to himself, he didn't dare try anything. "Could it be that _l'diable blanc_ has learned to fear his own mortality?"

"What I learned to fear," Gambit snarled, "Is you throwing Brotherhood thugs after me to kill me in my sleep. I've sent Nightcrawler back in pieces, what, ten times now?"

"You've sent him back, and yet still, you wear armor." Sinister reached through the bars and ran an ashen finger along the edge of Gambit's cowl, under his cheek. Gambit flinched. "That is very illuminating."

"Dat what dis is all about?" Gambit said, pulling away. "You bored and jealous an' go looking through y'little black book? I gonna start questioning your masculinity, you don' stop dis shit. Lesson de first, don' go feeling someone up as a way of getting reacquainted."

"You may consider it more of a farewell than a reintroduction," Sinister said. He smiled leanly. "You're no concern of mine, Lebeau. My soldiers would have felled you where you stood without Rogue's interference."

Gambit raised an eyebrow. "Rogue _interfered_? On my behalf? Gonna have to thank dat girl."

Sinister grasped one of the steel bars casually, smirking at Gambit as he drew closer. "I wouldn't, just yet."

"What's dat supposed to mean?"

Sinister smiled and drew back from the bars, leaving Gambit to glare at him through steel. "It means that I'll finally know everything I want to about the secrets of that beautiful body."

"Please refer to my previous comment 'bout your masculinity," Gambit said, sleekly crossing his arms across his chest and raising an eyebrow. "I'm gettin' de wrong idea 'bout what all dis means."

"By the time McCoy is done with you, Lebeau," Sinister said, "You'll wish that's what I meant. But my time grows short." He straightened the collar of his strange black outfit, half business-suit, half armor, pale fingers smoothing out invisible wrinkles. "You're no more than a passing distraction on my business today."

"Oh, yeah?" 

"Yes. I've wasted enough of my time on you. Jubilation Lee is my real concern."

"You an' everyone else, lately," Gambit snorted. "Trend whore." Sinister didn't really seem offended, so Gambit added, a bit lamely: "What you want wit' dat girl?"

"She's extremely powerful."

"She's a mutant flashlight. Not exactly up to your usual standards."

"There are other kinds of power," Sinister said with a grim half-smile. "Do you know who her parents are?"

"Don't matter. Dey dead."

"I know. The Los Angeles Lees," Sinister said. "And quite thankfully, I may add. Their ridiculous mutant-rights platform was not helpful to my business here…"

"…But having their sweet-sixteen daughter on your side is," Gambit finished, suddenly understanding.

"Inimitably."

"Mister Sinister," Gambit said, not sure whether he was impressed or disgusted, "Dat is one bastard-ass plan."

"Well, I've yet to implement it," Sinister said modestly. "So if you'll excuse me…" He turned and walked to the hallway door, the one Jubilee and McCoy had gone down.

"Hey," Gambit called after him, grabbing one of the bars. "Big shot. What makes you think she gonna give in?"

"What makes you think she won't?" Sinister chuckled. "I can offer mutant youth everything here, assuming they survive the journey. They all stay, in the end. Don't look so skeptical," he added, seeing Gambit's look. "You stayed, didn't you?"

There wasn't much Gambit could say to that. "Don' I at least get a cigarette?"

"You may beg a final cigarette off Doctor McCoy," Sinister began, but abruptly the door behind him opened.

"What makes you think I would carry cigarettes?" The voice from the hallway asked. "The prospects of a healthy pink set of lungs are infinitely attractive to me, I assure you."

"Speak of de devil and he appears," Gambit noted philosophically as Doctor Henry McCoy pushed into the cellblock, trailing a wheeled stretcher behind him, a sheet over the body. "Who's de stiff?'

"She's not stiff at all," McCoy said cheerfully, pulling the sheet down. Jubilee looked frosted over, like one of those porcelain women collected by the very bored and very rich. She was stretched on McCoy's gurney, arms and legs dangling off like a Raggedy-Ann doll, her mouth gaping open a little. Somehow, impossibly, she actually looked physically thinner – paler, too. Gambit ran his eyes over her broken-glass body, refusing to allow any expression to register on his face. "You been thorough, Hank. She dead?"

"Of course not," McCoy snapped. "What kind of an animal do you think I am?"

"I think you're a Beast," Gambit said. "Ain't dat right?"

"What do you have for me, Doctor McCoy?" Sinister asked calmly, cutting off Beast's angry response.

Beast paused to compose himself. "She's an Omega Level."

"What?" Sinister said lowly.

'

At the same time, without thinking, Gambit himself gasped, "_What_?"

"This is most unexpected," Sinister said.

"Omega level?" Gambit protested. "You got de test wrong, McCoy. De girl makes fireworks. Pretty, yeah, but she ain't any kind of weapon of mass destruction."

"Correction," Henry McCoy replied, checking the notes on his clipboard. "Her power's current manifestation is that of plasma and demolition of technology. Small potatoes, I'll agree, if you'll excuse the vernacular. But as far as that goes… well, the proverbial 'tip of the iceberg' springs to mind."

"Are you certain?" Mister Sinister said quietly.

"Indeed." McCoy glanced at the still form of the cot. "Similarly, Doctor Essex, I'm afraid that the plasma field disrupting Miss Lee's body lends her the same imperviousness to telepathic control as Mister Lebeau's powers do. So if that was the form of management you intended to implement…."

"I'll _manage_ something else," Sinister said, flicking a cool, impatient hand. "What else do you have for me?"

McCoy glanced down again, riffled studiously through his notes. Gambit rolled his eyes; Beast had it all memorized already. "Well," Henry said, reading over the last page on the clipboard, "She's a trained acrobat and gymnast. Talented and extremely fit. Her private school education is extensive; a tutor won't be necessary. And, according to her psychological profile, she's a perfect specimen for assimilation into the Brotherhood." He glanced up. "An affectionate young woman without family or home will seek those things out wherever she goes. It shouldn't take her any time to adjust to life here."

"You got dat stray cat wrong, Hank, if you think she gonna roll over and play fetch for you," Gambit growled. "You don' know her."

"But I do know her type," McCoy replied, "And they all respond the same way. It's unfortunate the X-Men got to Miss Lee before we did, but I don't think any lasting damage will have been done to her loyalties."

"Excellent work, Doctor McCoy," Sinister said with a tight smile. "Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me – " he began to move, and McCoy quickly pulled the stretcher to one side so Sinister could get to the door – "I'm a busy man with a number of pressing matters to attend to. Henry, please see to it that Miss Lee is given suitable accommodations and personal effects. Money is no object, for now. Just make her comfortable here."

"Of course, Doctor Essex," McCoy agreed, and Sinister nodded at the two and was gone.

Gambit rolled his eyes as the door slammed behind Essex. "Overdramatic fairy. An' you, thinkin' you gonna play paper dolls with Jubilation Lee, I feel sorry for you when dat girl wakes up."

"As I believe I said before," Beast said, sliding Jubilee's stretcher further into the corner of the room and neatening the papers on his clipboard, "Miss Lee should hardly be your first concern right now, given your rather dire circumstances."

"Is dat so?" Gambit crossed his arms. "Den what are my circumstances, exactly? Sinister was pretty vague on that."

"Oh," said Beast, his grin even more fanged than usual, "I'm more than happy to explain."

"Shoot," said Gambit.

Beast paused, didn't say anything, right away. "I always did enjoy working with you, Gambit," he said finally, thoughtfully. "You were an excellent co-worker and a good man. A good friend."

"I'm touched an' flattered," Gambit said sarcastically. "Why you bringin' old times up now?"

"Because, due to the fact that we were friends and allies at the time," McCoy replied, "I never did tell you what was always on my mind when I was around you."

"Oh, good god," Gambit snorted. "Don' tell me you want into my pants, too."

"Oh, my stars and garters, no. The Beast does _not_ swing that way. As a person I was quite happy to be your friend. But as a scientist…" He paused, and looked Gambit over, head-to-toe, the way Gambit himself had looked over houses to rob. "As a scientist, your mutation always intrigued me," Beast murmured, speaking so quietly, so absently, that he seemed to be addressing himself. "No healing factor, and yet you were obviously able to absorb so much more damage than the average soldier. Always in top physical form, despite your heavy drinking and smoking. There's something very complicated going on there. And so I always wondered…" Beast cupped his enormous chin in one mighty paw. "What were the limits of that wonderful body, exactly? What were its secrets? How much damage could it take, before it finally gave up?"

"Okay," Gambit said uncertainly, not understanding. "So?"

"So," Beast said, reaching into his pocket and drawing out a small steel case, "Mister Sinister, to my delight and gratification, has given me permission to find out."

"Permission to find out?" Gambit repeated, not understanding. He gave a worried little laugh. "What's dat supposed to mean? You gon', what, torture me to death?"

"That's one way of looking at it, I suppose," said Beast. 

There was a pause as Gambit waited for Beast to break character, to laugh, to say it was just a joke. Nothing came. "Hank, no," he gasped, as Beast calmly opened the little silver case. "You can't. Dis isn't funny."

"It's not meant to be funny. I intend to take this very seriously. It's a scientific quandary to which the answer has eluded me for some time."

"What about de Hippocratic Oath?!" Gambit barked, feeling more and more like a caged animal. A lab rat, to be exact. "Do no harm? What about your feelings, don't you got any? God, Hank, killing me quick is one thing, but I'm your _friend_!"

"You _were_ my friend," Beast said. "Now you're my case study. Who knows? Perhaps I'll prefer this." 

Gambit thought he was going to throw up. He sagged against the bars, drained. "You've changed, Henry."

"Everyone changes."

"Not like dis." Gambit shook his head. "What happened to you?" Then he noticed what McCoy was pulling out of the silver case – a syringe full of some yellow liquid, tip glinting. "What's dat?"

"The answer to both questions is the same," Beast replied. "This – " he tapped the contents of a syringe – "Is something Sinister dreamed up for me."

"You diabetic now?" Gambit said skeptically. "One too many donuts?"

McCoy chuckled. "A fair guess, but no. The answer is much more useful. Do you remember how morally conflicted I used to feel about the things we did here? I almost considered coming with you, when you left."

"I sure as hell wish you had now," Gambit said, staring at the syringe.

"Hmm," Beast said. "Yes, well, my work was always here. And I don't think I ever seriously considered leaving the Brotherhood. I've done great work for my country and for science here. But the ethical ambiguousness of… some of what happened here…" he didn't refer to anything specific, and he didn't have to. Gambit knew what he was talking about. "…Always worried and disturbed me. I was never completely at peace with my work."

"Dat's the way scientists are supposed to be. Dat's what keeps dem from takin' things too far."

"But it was always such a hindrance, such a barrier. Until Sinister – who, as you know, is a capable scientist in his own right – dreamed this up for me." McCoy tapped the syringe again – this time, in a clinical manner, dislodging any stubborn air bubbles before injection.

"What is it?" 

"The scientific complexities of the formula would be too complex for you," said Beast. "Suffice to say, in layman's terms, that it's a psychotropic drug related to angel dust. It eradicates the conscience." He flipped over his left wrist, parted a patch of fur, and, as Gambit watched in horror, injected the serum. Beast winced, and Gambit winced with him, as he drew the needle out of his arm.

"Sinister makin' you take dat stuff?"

"_Making_ me?" said Beast. "My goodness, no. I've been taking it of my own volition for several years now. When Sinister created the mixture, I agreed to try it once – as an experiment."

"And, of course," Gambit finished, "Once you started, you didn't want to stop."

"Why should I want to stop?" Beast said. "With emotional complications cleared out of the way, I've made leaps and bounds in my research. It's a shame that formula 2B acts only upon a small anomaly in the formation of my mutation. Otherwise, we could administer the formula to all the Brotherhood's operatives – Nightcrawler, Rogue, Jubilee – and not have to worry about catering to them, the way we do."

"Sinister,' Gambit muttered, feeling his fists clench deep in his pockets, nails cutting into either palm. "I'm gonna kill that bastard."

"I think that's enough pointless chatter for now," Beast said. He slid the empty syringe back into the silver case, slid the silver case into his lab coat pocket, and stood up. "I have to see to Miss Lee for a minute, of course, but after that, my day is free. I don't see any reason why my work with you shouldn't begin immediately."

000

Jubilee woke up to the smell of brimstone and roses, in no physical pain whatsoever, but emotions strained to the fraying point, and she felt like screaming and crying and beating her fists against the wall, she felt violated. She sat up in her regulation hospital pajamas and looked around.

Kurt Wagner sat in a chair opposite the bed; that was the brimstone. The floral scent was a single yellow rose in his hand. He looked up hopefully when he saw she was awake; she regarded him with weary wariness.

"How are you feeling?" Kurt asked hesitantly, standing. He held out the flower toward her. Jubilee stared at it, not moving to take it from him. She looked around the room – didn't recognize it – didn't recognize the clean pressed pajamas she had been dressed in, somebody's rag doll. The windows were closed and curtained. A hospital tray sat on the bedside table, cold toast and cold oolong and an apple. She looked back at Nightcrawler; his forehead had furrowed in concern. "Are you all right?"

Jubilee went over, in her head, all the responses she could give him. She could play tough, tell him _yeah, fine_. She could play mall-rat, do the sarcasm thing. She could lie or exaggerate. She didn't. "What's next?" she asked him, her voice cracking. She was horrified to hear how old she sounded, how tired.

"Vhat do you mean?"

"What do you people have next for me?" Jubilee replied. Her voice wasn't frightened or pleading or angry. It was just… flat. "I've been chased by the US Army every day for two months. I've been stormed off a ravine wall and almost drowned. I've been forced off a moving train. I've been kidnapped off the grounds of my school – " she didn't even notice the _my_ – "And attacked psychically by a fashion-challenged grunge girl. I've just been tested on by a real-deal, true-life mad scientist. What's next?"

Nightcrawler pulled up a folding chair beside her. "Nothing," he said quietly. "That's it."

"Bullshit."

"Zis is how it is," he said thoughtfully, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his folded arms on them. "For all ze recruits, not just you. Zat vas how it vas for me. I thought I had been captured, too. Until I realized vhat kind of a life I vas being offered. Freedom for ze first time."

"Oh, really," Jubilee said blackly. "And did Doctor Mengelecoy experiment on you too?"

"Yes," Nightcrawler told her, a touch of irritation creeping into his usually gentle voice. "If you vant to know that badly. Everyone being processed has zeir powers appraised, and McCoy performed the procedure on me as well. I didn't enjoy it either. He wanted to see how long I could stay in ze other world, in-between teleportations. The interdimensional void. He trapped me there." Kurt made a helpless motion with his hands. "It vas only seconds, in the end – but, on my end, it felt like hours. McCoy didn't understand ze time lapse. I though I was going to suffocate. Die out there in the void, in no-space." His ink-dark hand had tightened on Jubilee's rose.

"Why did you stay here?" Jubilee couldn't understand it. Freedom was the very nature of Kurt Wagner's powers. A thought, a wish, and he could be anywhere he wanted, untrappable as the wind.

"Because ze Brotherhood offered me a future," Nightcrawler said patiently. "Zere is initial unpleasantness, but ze hardest parts are past, for you."

"Hmm," said Jubilee. She looked around. "Where am I?"

"Ah!" Nightcrawler smiled, seizing on the brighter subject. "This is the permanent residence Doctor McCoy has had furnished for you. It's plain on purpose," Nightcrawler explained quickly, as Jubilee surveyed the pale gold curtains, the camellia-printed bedspread. "So zat you can decorate it yourself. Of course, the Brotherhood vill cover all expenses. Zere's also a catalogue in the bedside table," he added, nodding at the wicker furnishing that held the tray. "You can order yourself some new clothes. Anything you vant."

Jubilee couldn't hide her smile. If Nightcrawler was trying to cheer her up, she had to admit that he was succeeding. Not the clothes or the room – it took a lot of cash to buy off a Lee – but his unbridled enthusiasm was infectious. "Did Doctor McCoy say anything else?" she snorted. "Like, you know, 'sorry for raping your powers'?"

"He said you could take as long as you vanted to recuperate and that he'd be looking for gymnastics coaches in the area. You did not tell me you vere an acrobat." Nightcrawler poked her with the fork of his tail.

"Yeah. It slipped my mind for the moment," Jubilee said. "Where's Gambit?"

"Doctor McCoy says he is fine," Nightcrawler promised. "Zey are apparently addressing some questions about Gambit's mutation zat ze doctor had previously."

"Previously? Previously when?"

"Lebeau is a prior operative of the Brotherhood," Nightcrawler replied, furrowing his brow. "Didn't he tell you?"

"You are so full of shit," Jubilee snapped. "You didn't even know who he was yesterday."

"I knew _a_ Gambit," Nightcrawler corrected, "I just didn't know he vas _here_. The chances of it being the same man seemed slim to me. I have personal experience with Lebeau's reluctance to return to the Brotherhood." He unconsciously reached up and touched a burn scar on his shoulder. "I thought it vas likelier two mutants had picked ze same name. Zere's only so many _ubermensch_ titles to go around."

"I'm still calling bullshit," Jubilee said, but she couldn't help remembering Gambit's mysterious words – on more than one occasion. _It's time to come clean to me? What the hell did that mean? _"Whatever. I'll ask Gambit. He'll tell me. In the meantime, do you guys have anything else to offer me in this fantastic Brotherhood welcoming package?"

"You also get a government-paid credit card," Nightcrawler replied, with an innocent smile. "Platinum limit."

"You sure do know the way to a girl's heart. Is this how it works for everyone else?" Jubilee asked dryly, raising an eyebrow. "Get beat around, and then they send Nightcrawler in to make a housecall and convince you to stay?"

Nightcrawler cracked that yellow-fanged grin. "No. Zis I only do for other pirates." He offered her the rose again, and Jubilee hesitated, then took it.

"Thanks," she mumbled. "This is pretty. Unlike the rest of my current situation, which is just pretty rotten."

"It seems bad right now," Nightcrawler said sympathetically. He walked into the attached washroom with the Dixie cup from Jubilee's tray, filled it with water. "But things vill look up. I am sure zat Mister Sinister and Doctor McCoy vill be happy to implement any measures zat vill make your stay more comfortable." Nightcrawler brought the cup back and set the rose in it.

Jubilee politely leaned over to smell it. It was nice to get flowers. It was just too bad she had to be kidnapped and experimented of first. "_Leaving_ would make me more comfortable."

Nightcrawler chuckled. "I doubt zey vill go zat far. But if you vanted to call friends, let zem know you are all right…."

"Really?" said Jubilee. Wolverine might want to hear from her. Then she remembered Emma Frost and the infamous exploding computer of doom. _Then again, he might not._

"Listen," Nightcrawler said, sensing Jubilee's indecision. "You do not have to make any decision, right now. Stay vith the Brotherhood for a veek, for too. Just take some time to get your bearings." Kurt smiled at her. "You'll see it's not so bad. You might even get to like it. Don't look at me that way," he protested, as Jubilee crossed her eyes and made an I'm-hanging-myself face. "If it turns out in ze end zat I'm telling ze truth about Gambit, vell, it vould be a pretty good revenge, vouldn't it?"

"What, scamming in on his job and stealing all his friends?"

"I vouldn't consider it stealing," Nightcrawler said dryly. "Ve haven't really been his friends for a vhile."

Neither teen spoke for a second. "I don't know," Jubilee said, finally, uncertainly. "I get what you're saying, but Rogue was kind of a bitch to me."

Nightcrawler chuckled. "I'm not asking you for a yes or no. I'm just asking you to say you'll think about staying. Just think about it."

Jubilee squinted at him. "And why exactly do you want that?" she said skeptically. "What's in this for you?"

Nightcrawler pushed his hands into his pockets. He regarded her, through oddly long, thick lashes, from those dark, inscrutable eyes. "I just like you," he said with a half-smile, and there was another rather loaded pause, and Jubilee giggled nervously, which made Kurt laugh too. "Zere is plenty of time to discuss all this later," he added, standing up briskly and setting Jubilee's hospital tray down by her side. "Just do one thing at a time for now. Eat some breakfast. Look for clothes. Everything vill vork itself out if you let it." He spun the shiny red apple on the tray, then flicked it juggler-like into the air, caught it, and offered it to Jubilee, with a dashing, crafty smile.

"You should learn how to pronounce 'W'. It's not that hard," said Jubilee, poking out her tongue. She felt heartened by Nightcrawler's good spirits, if nothing else. He'd been honest with her about Doctor McCoy. Maybe he was being honest with her now. Maybe things really _were_ looking up. Shooting Kurt a small smile, she accepted the apple and took a bite.

Several floors below, Remy Lebeau screamed in pain.


	14. Sympathy For The Devil

"One, two, three, _four_. One, two, three, _four._ Oh, _screw_ it." Alison stomped to the boom box and thumped it in a fairly indiscriminate location; the stereo, apparently understanding her intent, skipped and then obligingly turned off. The older girl rounded on Jubilee. "Get it together, Jubes. You're wasting my time."

Jubilee leaned over and rested her elbows on her knees, panting, striped camisole soaked in sweat. "Easy for you to say, Ali," she gasped between ragged breaths. "Like you could do half this stuff."

"It's true," Alison Blaire admitted cheerfully, running a hand through her punk-rock ragged blonde hair. She straightened the blue mats on the floor with the toe of one black boot. "Years of ballet does not a gymnast make."

"Years of ballet?" Jubilee attempted to stick out her tongue, discovered it to be a bad idea whilst still gasping for air like a beached whale, and put the offending appendage back where it was supposed to be. "I was thinking more an entire tragic kingdom of failed pop-diva aspirations."

"Watch your tongue, girl, or I'll snip it off," Alison suggested good-naturedly. "And while you get points for the No Doubt reference, I don't think I've failed yet." She mockingly shook a finger at Jubilee. "I'm not that much older than you, you know. So don't speak."

"No Doubt reference served and parried," Jubilee admitted. "Still. Twenty-four. No offense, but… ancient?"

"You're headed this way too," Alison laughed, "Sooner than you think. Look upon me and see your own mid-twentiful doom." She pushed the last safety mat back into place and stepped back, folding her arms. "In the meantime, bratting and bitching at me won't distract me from your routine. So get in your damn starting position so we can get this right." 

"And this time you won't interrupt me oh-so-rudely?" Jubilee obligingly skipped back to the far end of the gym.

"Not if you start looking more like a gymnast and less like a spastic Slinky." Alison poked the boom box with her toe: The Crystals sprang back to cheerful, Wall-Of-Sound life. Jubilee threw herself into her routine – handsprings, cartwheels, a plange that took her right across two mats. She could see Alison standing with folded arms in the corner of the gym as the air rushed by her body. "Push yourself," Ali yelled, and Jubilee did.

Jubilee was worried about Gambit. Really, she was. And she really was going to go find him soon; she had no intention of staying with these Brotherhood hacks, whatever she'd told Nightcrawler. But she'd just been so _busy_ lately. As she'd recovered from Beast's testing, she'd gone through the magazines and catalogues Nightcrawler brought her. Price was no object, Kurt assured her, and so Jubilee picked out a brand-new wardrobe from Hot Topic, Old Navy, Club Monaco: if her only way to strike at the Brotherhood was to spend their money, she'd do that with a vengeance. She ordered MAC eyeliner and a Mac laptop. She received a Platinum VISA with a Brotherhood logo in the corner. She decorated her room.

A day later, Jubilee was well enough to head to the cafeteria for lunch. Beast had been there, all gracious words and gentlemanly manners. Jubilee had recoiled at first – then McCoy had given her a list of various dance and gymnastics instructors, all of whom could start work immediately. She'd selected Alison Blaire from the list, more because the girl fronted a punk-rock band than for any other reason. The very next day a government van brought Ali out, and they'd been provided with a gym and mats and all the equipment Jubilee needed. They already got along great, and it was wonderful to be working again, to be honing her skills. When Jubilee wasn't training with Alison, she was exploring the complex – the enormous library, an Olympic-size swimming pool, hiking trails, cable and wi-fi in every room. At first she had been looking for Gambit, and also testing her leash, the confines of her freedom. But no one came after her or asked where she was going, and before long, Jubilee was exploring for its own sake, awed and impressed by the limitless compound.

She was attending classes, for the first time in months. Doctor McCoy had hired a tutor to fill the potholes in her education – apparently she was doing math at a grade-six level. There were other kinds of classes, too, that couldn't be found in any normal high school – training, combat, and diplomacy tutorials with the Brotherhood agents, who were a motley crew straight out of a comic book.

"So you're the secret Kurt's been hiding up in his belltower," grinned one. The blonde boy, about Jubilee's age, had an ambiguously British accent – but the leer he shot her wasn't ambiguous at all. "No wonder he's wanted to keep you a secret. You got a name, love?"

Jubilee smirked. She knew how to deal with this kind of attention. And, if she was honest with herself, she'd missed it. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't," she shot back. "You go first."

"Call me Pyro," the boy with the cocky smile replied.

"What makes you think I'll call you?" Jubilee asked, flicking her hair off her shoulder. Vertigo hooted as Pyro glared and sent a fireball at nothing in particular.

Pyro. Avalanche. Vertigo. Nightcrawler. Everyone had a nickname. Everyone was proud of what they could do. Everyone was part of a team. Since the younger agents had no supervision beyond the computerized training program, sessions were exercises in wit as much as anything else -- they teased, tormented, and taunted each other, rarely getting real work done. It was different if Beast or Rogue dropped in -- then training was very serious. But when it was just the kids and the VR, the real sparring was all verbal.

"What's the matter with you, Allerdyce? Washington's sending you a paycheque for that?"

"Come on, Vertie. Show me what you've got."

"Hey Jubilee, you like being on your knees?"

"I'm gonna send you packing back to Greece, Dom, if you don't watch your back."

"Holy crap, Kurt, you wanna get a load of this, the girls are totally catfighting!"

Jubilee found herself looking forward to combat. It seemed normal. That was odd, considering that they were genetic freaks being trained as government assassins, but it did. It was normal. It was fun.

She'd go find Gambit soon. Anyway, Doctor McCoy had assured her that Lebeau was fine, and she didn't have to worry, she'd see him soon. She had plenty of time -- and so much to do. But she'd go find him soon. No, really. She would.

000

Gambit was dying.

He was glad that he knew, at least. His chief horror of death had always been its suddenness. No matter how smart you were, or how much you knew, you would never know exactly how or when you went -- and other people would. Gambit hadn't been fool enough to count on growing old, of course; if this was the end, he took a contrary comfort in knowing it approached. At least the reaper wouldn't catch him off his guard.

He had lost track of time early on, and measured the passing minutes in pain, in energy charges ripped from his body against his will. Any number of days might have passed -- those measurements were losing meaning for Gambit. The seconds were miniaturized eternities of pain, broken up by sleepless nights. Remy had used every trick he knew to keep himself strong, to endure, but he could feel his strength ebbing out into a black sea. 

He took some contrary comfort in the predictability, the regularity of it. Days were hell, nights anguish, but there were no surprises, nothing to catch him off his guard. Now he lay awake on his cell's threadbare military cot, breathing himself through waves of pain, and wondering how long he had left. _Not long at all, fool, if you don't get some sleep. _But the cell block was cold and Remy was hungry and the morning after would be brutal: rest was difficult. 

Gambit turned his head and caught the mirror image of his face in the prison bars, distorted and dim, but still discernable in the glow from the stairwell's safety light. He was surprised to see that he didn't look like hell anymore. He'd caught his reflection that first day with Rogue, the raccoon-bruised eyes and split lips, and had made an effort to avoid seeing himself since then -- didn't want his vanity to suffer alongside his dignity. But his bruises had healed, he saw; his face was stitching its seams back together, near good as new. Gambit reached up and touched the lean, high lines of his cheekbones cautiously, watching his blurred self in the bars. Whatever damage Beast was dealing was all internal. That was no comfort – a taser could kill without leaving a mark. Yet Gambit found himself absurdly fascinated by how quickly and completely his exterior had healed, brushing the back of his thumb over his chin again, running a hand down his neck.

"Have I interrupted your… moment with yourself?" a cold voice inquired as the stairwell door slammed shut. Someone touched the light switch, and blinding fluorescents stammered on.

Gambit winced, covering his sensitive red eyes. He'd never get used to that. "Sinister. To what do I owe dis pain in de ass?"

"Some people can sleep all night," Mister Sinister said with a lifted eyebrow. "Others have work to do." He set a heavy black briefcase on a counter and opened it; it was full of jars and philters which, from Gambit's distance, looked rather pharmaceutical.

Gambit watched him curiously. "What's dat?"

"Doctor McCoy's shots," Sinister replied, shaking a mixture in a sterilized tube and then measuring it into a syringe. "He's running low."

"Oh, right," Gambit said, as Sinister jabbed a rubber stopper into the first syringe, slid it into a notch in a small silver case, and started on the next one. "Wanted to congratulate you on dat, by de way."

"Oh?"

"I thought you were amoral, but dis has exceeded even my expectations. Kinda amazing."

"It has nothing to do with morals," Mister Sinister said calmly, measuring out ingredients into another small jar. "And everything to do with productivity. Henry McCoy was burdened with ethical misgivings. Now he is not. That is all that matters."

"I see, sure," Gambit said, still watching Sinister work. "But de effect isn't permanent, is it? What happens when Hank runs out?"

"He won't run out," Sinister replied. "There's no reason I'd stop making formula 2B. It's rendered him infinitely more tractable."

"Don' matter," Gambit retorted. "Anything could happen. You know dat – you're a scientist. Beast could develop an allergy. Immunity. Hell, maybe one day he forget to tell you he's low and, when time comes to shoot up, he's got an empty case. Den what happens?"

"Then his conscience resurfaces."

"An' what do you suppose dat would do to him?"

"Probably kill him, considering the nature of some of the experiments he's conducted over the last few years. Or at least drive him insane." Sinister shrugged. "It's a risk I'm willing to take, given the results it has procured thus far."

"You've ruined a good man," Gambit barked, his cool mask slipping for a second.

Sinister's mask never slipped. He smiled back, red and snakelike. "But I've created a master scientist."

Gambit growled, looking away. He tried to sit up a little; it was difficult. "Be dat way, den. Anyway, you could've set up your dope farm anywhere. Why you really down here botherin' me?"

I wanted to check on my prime subject," Sinister replied. 

"Prime? You never had any lack of lab rats dat I remember."

"Every well runs dry," Sinister replied. "It becomes more difficult to keep both the combat team full of agents and the lab full of subjects. At present you're one of only three testees, and certainly the most interesting."

"I'm touched," Gambit said. "Very kind of you to come wake me up for dat. Anything else?"

"Well, yes. You may wish to say your prayers tonight," Sinister told him with cold amusement. "You're to be terminated tomorrow." 

He paused in his work, watching Gambit intently, even eagerly, for a reaction. Gambit knew better than to give him one -- Sinister didn't have to know that his blood had turned to ice in his veins. 

_God,_ Gambit prayed, _You get Remy out of this, and he never thieve again_. "Why's dat?" he asked evenly. "Hank bored?"

"Rarely," Sinister replied dryly. "I'm leaving for Washington tomorrow to submit a progress report – I'll no longer be able to study Beast's data. We've agreed that the timing is good for an analysis of your autopsy. After all, I'll need something to do between meetings."

Gambit opened his mouth, exhaled in a rough approximation of a yawn, and folded his aching arms behind his throbbing head. "Dat's a stupid plan."

"You'll understand," Sinister said, "If I say that I didn't entirely expect your approval."

"You starting to seem just dumb enough for even dat," Gambit replied. "But no, no, nevermind. You go right ahead and do dat. I'll spend my last moments laughin' at your stupidity."

Sinister sighed. "I'll take the bait. Why am I stupid, Lebeau?"

Gambit polished his nails on his trousers, pushed back his hair. "Mystique gone chicken, as I hear it. So who's training de kids?"

"A VR program," Sinister replied, not looking up. "It's similar to the X-Men's 'Danger Room' model, although not near the capacity of Xavier's machine. Regrettable, but our budget cuts – "

Gambit made an impatient gesture. "_Merde._ VR ain't worth nothing without a real teacher. Dey learning to fight a computer, nothing more. What you gonna do when dey go up against real – live – good guys?"

Sinister paused, tapping a syringe's base, and looked lost in thought for a second. Gambit shifted on the cold white tile, his fingers drumming anxiously where Sinister couldn't see them. "I understand your point. When Rogue has time – "

Gambit snorted. "Give me a break. A teacher afraid to hit her students? Rogue'll teach 'em how to fight 'gainst somebody tryin' not to touch you."

Sinister paused again, then he chuckled, shaking his head. "Let my genius intellect detect where this train of thought is leading. We have no armsmaster and you'd like to put yourself forward."

Gambit shrugged. "It's a waste to kill me, is all I'm saying."

"A waste?"

"Beast's got his readings and charts. Days and days of 'em. What my autopsy really gonna add? 'He capable of dying when crazy folk set out to kill him'? 'He not able to make kinetic charges when he dead'?" He could hear his accent growing stronger with stress.

"It would all be intriguing…."

"Naturally," Gambit agreed. "But if you don' mind my sayin' so, you Brotherhood folk need something beyond intriguing just now. Raven's gone, you got new agents to break in, and de boys in Washington are all ready to send you a report card -- you just said so. Don' go throwin' me away because McCoy wants to see how I tick." He chuckled dryly. "Use your head, Sinister. I forget more about hand-to-hand combat den Rogue learn in her whole life. De Gambit, he more useful to you alive."

"Are you seriously asking me to believe," Sinister scoffed, "That, ten years after resigning in the most pathetic furor possible and hindering me at every turn since then, you're returning to the Brotherhood, smiles and apologies? You fought tooth and nail to escape returning here, and yet you're suddenly ready to become a tutor?"

"Hell, no." Gambit shrugged. "We both know it ain't like dat. I didn't want to come here and I'd go if I could. But I'm a practical man." He sighed. "Dis complex plunked straight in the middle of nowhere and got security like Alcatraz. I ain't going anywhere. Best I can hope to do is strike some deal with you, get room and board, an' maybe not killed into the bargain." He straightened the collar of his trench coat casually, heart pounding. "I ain't askin' you to believe dat I'm happy about it. All you have to believe – an' hell, we both know it already – is dat de Gambit's high-and-mighty morals come second to his survival. If I gotta help de Brotherhood, if I gotta teach your kids, hell, I'll do dat."

"I find it hard to believe your idealism has faded so quickly."

Gambit flashed Sinister an easy smile. "Ten years ain't quickly. Mostly now I lookin' for a quick buck and a free lunch. Ask Jubilee, if you want, she'll tell you. Met her cheating at poker in de backroom of a bayou saloon."

"If you're asking me to believe that you're a shameless opportunist," Sinister mused, closing his black briefcase, "Well, that's hardly a leap of faith. But what's to stop you from sabotaging us – throwing a wrench in the works, so to speak? Turn Brotherhood agents into easy targets, under the guise of teaching them new strategies and techniques?"

Gambit snorted. "De fact dat you ain't a fool? You'd notice if I improved 'em worse, an' I ain't gonna try it." He sighed. "Come on, Sinister, don' fool yourself. You wouldn't really have told me I was gonna die tomorrow unless you thought I might have a better offer. We both know d'real reason you're down here."

Sinister raised an eyebrow, looking up. "Are you suggesting I didn't mean what I said?"

"I'm only suggesting dat we both know you short on manpower right now, an' we both know I could help you. Look," Gambit snapped, as sweat trickled down his spine, "A Cajun's a man of his word. You take my offer, I keep it. Goin' once."

"I don't know," Sinister said.

"Goin' twice."

"I'd still like to see those forensics reports."

"Goin' three times."

"Oh, fine," Mister Sinister snapped. He seemed both irritated and grudgingly impressed by Gambit's audacity. "I can always kill you later, and I'm not too proud to admit when another man has a good idea. I'll relay the change in plans to Doctor McCoy."

"Thanks," Gambit said, with a cocky grin, mock-saluting Sinister. "You can set up my old rooms."

"Avalanche is using them."

"Well, hell, anywhere else will do too, I ain't picky. An' I'll start workin' tomorrow morning, if dat agreeable to you. In de meantime, why don' you go finish packing for your trip? Gambit was hoping to get some sleep tonight."

"You've the devil's own luck, Lebeau," Sinister said, shaking his head. "But you'd better hold up your end of the bargain. You're playing poker with your life."

"Dat's fine, 'cause I don' bluff," Gambit replied. "You'll come back to the best damn team of operatives you ever had."

Sinister regarded him with narrow eyes. Then he nodded – once, and sharply – grasped his briefcase and crossed to the other side of the room. The door to the stairwell slammed behind him ominously, leaving Gambit in serene, peaceful silence. Lebeau sagged against the tile wall in relief so sweet it was sickening, crossing himself -- which reminded him of a certain promise he'd made just minutes ago. He paused and considered, then seemed to make up his mind. 

"Never mind, Lord," he said, glancing up towards the ceiling with as charming a smile as ever he used. "Maybe next time. De Gambit, he worked everything out on his own."

000

The next day when Jubilee headed downstairs to combat training, everyone was very, very quiet. No jokes, no smartass comments. "What's going on?" she murmured to Vertigo.

"We've got a new team leader," the other girl murmured back.

"Who is it?" Jubilee whispered.

The double-doors to the VR chamber slid open. Heavy-toed boots thudded on the smooth metal floor. A trenchcoat billowed and whispered in the canned air. Jubilee sprang to her feet and did an easy cartwheel and threw her arms around Gambit, who winced, and smiled, and hugged her back, face healed, hands uncuffed. "Playtime's over," Gambit said dryly to the rest of the class, over the top of Jubilee's head, as she hugged him tighter. "Welcome to real-life combat 101."

_A/N: The song Jubilee's routine is done to can be found here: _

_It's "Then He Kissed Me", by The Crystals. If you are as cool as me, you will remember this song from _Adventures In Babysitting_ (which the Brotherhood are certainly having right now, thanks to Jubilee). On the subject of stupid music references in this chapter, the "No Doubt references" are "Tragic Kingdom" (best album) and "Don't Speak" (awesome song). I miss Gwen Stefani being cool._

_I'm enrolled in my school's rock-and-roll history course, and what can I say? It's taken over my life…._


	15. Bedtime Stories

A/N: I will not be able to update again until about April 23

_A/N: I will not be able to update again until about April 23. Final papers and exams are looming up – and, well, what can I say? I'm not doing as well in Chinese as Jubilee might. Until then, I'm overdue to issue another thank-you for the wonderful reviews. Readers have not only flattered me with how much they enjoy the story, but pointed out specific lines and situations they liked, which is wonderful. In particular, I'd like to thank the group of about ten readers who have gone above and beyond, offering thoughtful, heartfelt reviews for almost every chapter. You guys know who you are. I'm honored to have so many passionate, intelligent readers who know what they like and what they don't – and don't hesitate to tell me!_

_I have a request for you all. I'd like to be able to link that song Jubilee's routine is done to, but _fanfictiondotnet_ seems to have a problem with me putting a URL in my story, which is inconvenient, to say the least. Is there a way I can finagle around that, or am I stuck?_

_Anyway, major thanks from this corner, and keep reviews coming! Hope you enjoy this chapter and survive the wait!_

_Love, Ami_

Gambit was moved into agent housing near the gym – two square rooms and a shower. It wasn't Beverly Hills, but it beat the cell block. He was free to come and go as he wanted, within reason – and he was alive. Sinister had lived up to his end of the bargain. In return, Gambit kept his promise. After a week under his tutelage, Avalanche, Pyro, Vertigo and Jubilee were nearly black-and-blue as Nightcrawler. Gambit wasn't rude or standoffish – he didn't need to make more enemies – but he didn't go easy on anyone, for any reason. He refused to allow Sinister the pleasure of thinking he had lied. Gambit intended to see his promise through.

However, he also intended to make it a limited-time offer. The prison that could hold Gambit had not been built, as far as he was concerned – those counter-charged bars in the cellblock were just pesky details. He'd already talked himself off death row. It was just a matter of time before he and Jubilee made a break for it – leaving the Brotherhood, of course, as broken as possible. And so Gambit kept a cautious eye on the comings and goings of the Brotherhood agents. Doctor McCoy accepted the loss of his test subject with a truly academic detachment; in fact, he'd approached Gambit, to Gambit's extreme surprise.

"What do you want?" Remy had snapped, holding onto the doorframe of his new apartments so that Beast – who was holding two cups of coffee -- couldn't get past him and sit down. It was hard to be polite to somebody who tried to kill you. 

"Sinister's informed me that your position within the organization has changed," Beast replied. "You're now a tutor of sorts?"

"Dat's right," Gambit said, taking the coffee Beast offered, but not drinking it. "Sad to lose yer test subject?"

Beast shrugged. "I won't lie, I'm very frustrated. It's difficult to give up a project so close to completion."

"My condolences."

Beast waved him off. "No sympathy is required. I can appreciate Sinister's reasoning."

"I appreciate it too," Gambit said dryly. "Now, as I was sayin' – what do you want?"

McCoy smiled genially. "To extend an olive branch. I won't get another chance to analyze your mutation, so we might as well resume our friendship where we left off. I can understand why you're reluctant, but it will be most inconvenient for us to coexist in mutual loathing if you're to be a full-time Brotherhood employee. Shall we simply resume a cordial relationship? No harm, no foul?"

"No harm, no foul?" Gambit echoed. "You were gonna dissect me."

"But I didn't, did I?" Beast said patiently. "Ah, well, if you change your mind, let me know. I always enjoyed your company." He nodded to Gambit and went on his way, leaving the Cajun to stare incredulously behind him, coffee growing cold in his hand.

That was perhaps the oddest welcome Gambit recieved. He tried to keep an eye on the White Queen, the double agent -- though he saw her rarely, as she reported directly to Sinister. He also kept an increasingly concerned eye on Jubilee, who was adapting to her new circumstances with cheerful resignation. And, of course, Gambit kept an eye on Rogue – who, of course, kept a mutually suspicious eye on him.

On his first night in his new rooms, Gambit reconned. It wasn't that he expected to be attacked – though he hadn't ruled it out. This was simply his standard procedure. He made a rule of not sleeping in a place unless he knew it.

He waited for midnight, for everyone to be asleep. Then he laid his things on the bed. Everything Gambit had possessed when kidnapped amounted to the contents of his trench coat pockets, so that particular part went quickly. He pulled off his trench coat, his jeans and belt, his boots and armor. Finally, clad only in his black silk boxers and an earring, Gambit stood in the center of the room, breathing deeply. An observer might have called his stance meditative, and, to Gambit, this procedure was indeed ritual.

He walked the perimeter of the bedroom, running his hand over the walls, dragging his toes along the wooden floor. In the bathroom, he tapped the mirror and shone his laser-pointer at it, ensuring that it wasn't double-sided. He checked the metal grating over his windows – not really any need for it, he thought, since both were too small for even Jubilee to wriggle through. He lay flat on his bare back, stared at the ceiling fan, and then wriggled under his bed. He shone the laser pointer upwards and breathed in sharply.

"Hello," he muttered to the wiretap. It beeped cheerfully where it was taped to the bedframe, recording everything. "Wasn't expectin' one of you."

He shimmied out from under the bed, looking through his small pile of personal possessions for his wire cutters. They weren't there; someone had taken them off him, alone with his straight-backed razor (which was mostly for shaving anyway) his manicure scissors (he wasn't ashamed. Everyone had a vice) and his cell phone (the thing was long dead. Did anyone seriously think Gambit would pay a monthly phone bill?). The confiscations seemed ridiculous to Gambit – a single kinetic charge could do damage wire cutters would never inflict. "Idiots," Gambit grumbled, as he shimmed back under his bed, gripped the wiretap with one hand, and shielded his eyes with the other. He charged the machine, and little bits of wire and plastic shattered outwards, stinging his bare face and torso. Whoever monitored the tap would probably realize what he'd done. Still, they wouldn't dare order it replaced until Sinister came back. He had a week or two of freedom.

"_What in the Sam Hill are you doin'?"_

Gambit cursed and scrambled out from under the bed. "Checkin' for monsters," he told Rogue sarcastically. "What_ you_ doin'? You never heard of knockin'?"

Rogue was standing in the doorframe, one hand still nervously clutching the knob, frowning vigorously. She was dressed only in a loose, dark-green nightgown and sleeping gloves, face clear of makeup. "Ah did knock," she replied. "Twice."

"Like de postman," Gambit said. "Well, never mind, you forgiven. I should've locked it." He sat up on the hardwood floor, grinning at Rogue's expression. She clearly hadn't expected to find him bare-chested and tousle-haired, and she was having obvious, and obviously embarrassing, trouble keeping her eyes off certain ostensibly concealed sections of his body. "So," Gambit said, "To what do I owe dis honor? No, wait." He snapped his fingers cheerfully. "Don' have to tell me. Rogue shows up in de middle of de night wearing nothin' but a paper-thin nightshirt, I know what dat girl wants." He carefully pushed a few wayward strands of hair off his forehead. "Sorry, chere, maybe later. I got a headache."

"You always manage to be just about as wrong as you can," Rogue snapped, blushing vigorously. She crossed her gloved arms across her chest.

"Den enlighten me, _chere_," Gambit said patiently. He stood up and pulled his trench coat off his bed. "Feel free to come in, by de way. Rude to talk in doorways."

He thought Rogue might refuse, but she merely hesitated, then took a step into his apartments, closing the door behind her. "Can Ah sleep here tonight?" she asked bluntly.

Gambit nearly dropped his coat. "_Padonnez_?" he blurted stupidly, before quickly recovering. "A woman usually wants me to take her to dinner first," he said, as coolly and casually as possible.

"You're putting your trench coat on backwards," Rogue told him.

Gambit glanced down. "Oh," he said distantly. "So I am." He turned the coat the right way out and pulled it on, a bit more hastily than was required. "Well, _chere_, got to admit I'm amazed. De Gambit never dreamed you'd be so forward." He paused. "Well, dere was one time, but I put it down to what I ate."

"Don't be disgustin'," Rogue snapped. She stepped a little further into the room. "Ah didn't mean it that way. Ah just meant, y'know, can Ah sleep in here."

"Do you not got rooms of your own?" Gambit asked cautiously. "Are dey tryin' to socialize you?"

Rogue shook her head and rolled her eyes appropriately. "It's Jubilee," she said shortly.

"_Jubilee_ took your rooms?"

"Jubilee's in my _head_," Rogue snapped. She sighed. "You know how she was screamin' her head off when Ah touched her?"

"No." Said Gambit. "I was unconscious at de time, case you've forgotten."

"Well, she was," Rogue said. "Yellin' to wake the damn dead. For you and Wolverine. For her parents."

"So what?" Gambit said, straightening his coat.

"So she's calmed down in real life," Rogue muttered, placing her hands on her temples, "But she ain't faded in my head and it's still pretty loud up here. An' Ah'm supposed to be in charge while Sinister's away and Ah can barely hear mahself think and the fact Ah can't sleep don't help either." Gambit wasn't paying much attention until Rogue's voice caught in her throat, which made him look up sharply, though Rogue just stared at her feet. "Ah ain't gotten a lot of sleep since that night," she mumbled, "An' I just ain't feeling like mahself, and Ah thought maybe – if Ah was 'round someone she trusts -- "

Gambit examined Rogue, noticing the very dark shadows under her bright green eyes. It wasn't that he hadn't noticed how snappy she'd been, but he'd attributed that to his presence. Yet Rogue must be in truly dire straits to even consider coming to him, to suffer that blow to her indefatigable Southern-belle pride. Suddenly, Remy felt self-absorbed and guilty – disgusted at himself. Even in the short time he'd spent with the Brotherhood, Rogue had grown thinner and paler and tired. He was no under no obligation to feel badly for her, given his own circumstances, but it was a poor reflection on his abilities as a thief if he hadn't even noticed the change until now. "Why don't you have a seat, _chere_?" he said gently, stepping aside to let Rogue pass. Rogue didn't move at first – she glanced at the bed and bit her lip. Gambit raised his hands. "Don't worry," he said. "I be a perfect gentleman. I ain't got a death wish."

"Some'd wonder," Rogue mumbled, but she walked to the bed and sat down crosslegged. White cotton panties peeked through the triangle of her bent legs. She looked embarrassed, still refusing to meet Gambit's eyes -- starting riffling through the pile of his possessions, just for something to do with her hands. "Nice rosary. Never figured you for a nice Catholic boy."

"Some would say the 'nice' was a stetch," Gambit agreed, nonplussed.

"So," Rogue said, looking up and meeting Remy's gaze so abruptly that the extreme greenness of her eyes startled him. "Y'all weasled your way outta lab ratting, huh?"

"Dere was no weaseling or ratting involved," Gambit replied. "No rodents at all. I made Sinister an offer as a businessman, and he accepted it in de same way. We benefit mutually." He glanced at Rogue's narrow, unimpressed eyes and couldn't resist adding, "Which must jus' kill you."

"Don't flatter yourself," Rogue snorted, but she didn't deny it. "Ah ain't gonna say Ah'm happy you're back, but it's good for the team. Assumin', that is, y'keep your promise."

"De Gambit ain't never been caught in a lie," Gambit lied. Rogue's hands were shaking. "When did you say you ate, _chere_?"

"Well, Ah had a sudden, inexplicable urge to raid all the processed sugar outta the fridge last night," Rogue said dryly. She sighed, smoothing her hair over her forehead with one thin hand. "That girl's so little and sweet in person. Who woulda guessed she'd be so stubborn to get rid of, up here?"

"Anyone who been around her for more den five minutes," Gambit replied, fetching two short glasses from the bathroom. He bent over his stash on the bed and came up with a flask. "You want a drink?"

Rogue shrugged and nodded, and Gambit filled the glasses quarter-full with an amber liquid, handed one to her. "The other one," she said immediately.

Gambit sighed and switched them. "You're very suspicious."

"Ah'm just smart," Rogue said coolly, sipping at what proved to be fairly high-grade bourbon.

"Smart or paranoid," Gambit said, taking a pull from his own glass. He laughed as he watched Rogue drink. "You don't even flinch. Can't say I'm surprised." He winked. "You can take de girl outta Mississippi, but you can't take Mississippi out of the girl."

Rogue raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Am Ah bein' insulted?"

"Course not," Gambit said, lifting his glass to her. "I love a Southern belle." Rogue obediently clinked her glass against his and lifted it to her lips again. "You been doin' dis often?" Gambit asked her cautiously.

"What," Rogue said, "Sneakin' up to the boy's rooms to drink bourbon?"

"I never thought dese words would come from my mouth, but don' be crass," Gambit chuckled, then turned serious again. "I meant usin' your powers. When I left, Mystique was pretty careful 'bout keepin' you clean."

"Ah remember that," Rogue agreed. "Well, Ah was a growin' girl. Mama didn't really know what effect too much – that -- would have on me, y'know? If a cup of coffee can stunt a kid's growth…."

"Den who knows what effect regular soul absorption will have?" Gambit suggested.

"Yeah," said Rogue. "Sinister tol' me Ah could start usin' them as Ah liked when Ah turned sixteen. Mama wasn't too pleased."

"Bet not," said Gambit. "Since den?..."

"Since then, a few times," Rogue said carefully, staring at the glass in her hands. "Ah mean, Ah don't like doin' it. It's a pretty unpleasant thing all round. An' whatever Jubilee thinks – " Gambit got the feeling Rogue was talking to someone in her head, which was different from talking to yourself, and looked distinctly odd -- "Ah don't enjoy watchin' other people's pain." She slouched over her bent legs, staring down into her drink. "It's pretty awful, actually."

"You done it a few times," Gambit echoed. "What's a few times mean?"

Rogue flicked a bit of grey hair off her freckled face. "Ah've touched maybe a dozen people for a second or two, just to stun 'em. They fade after a while. Some sooner, rather than later," she added, scrunching up her eyes and rubbing her forehead. "And then… then there've been a few folks who Ah… didn't let go of so quickly."

"How do you mean?"

"Ah mean Ah'd rather not talk about that," Rogue said flatly. "But Ah can fly now, if that tells you anythin'." She paused. "Wish Ah couldn't. That one wasn't worth the pain it caused."

"_Mon dieu_," said Gambit, trying to concentrate on the feat itself and not what it meant for Rogue's unfortunate victim, and for the unfortunate Rogue. "You really said you can _fly_? Do I get to see?"

"In my nightgown?" Rogue snorted. "You sure as hell don't, Ah know where your head's at."

"Oh, Roguey," Gambit said, putting a playful hand on his heart as he winked at her, "You do me a disservice." He set his empty whiskey glass on the bedside table.

"How about you, then?" Rogue said, trying to change the subject. "What you been doin' since you left? 'Sides party-crashin' on Brotherhood ops?"

Gambit shrugged. "I been around," he said. "Here, dere, everywhere."

"You gone back to Cajun country?" Rogue asked. "That's where Jubilee found you. Ah – she -- remembers that really clearly." She glanced up at Gambit. "She thinks highly of you, Remy."

Gambit shrugged evasively. "I think highly of her too," he said.

"That's not what Ah meant," Rogue said. "She's kinda got a thing for you."

Gambit looked away, suddenly wishing he'd skipped the alcohol. "I don' think so," he said quickly. "We're friends. I got a lot of respect for her."

"You got more than respect for her," Rogue said. "You kissed her."

Gambit stood up quickly, crossing his arms."I kissed her hand! I was bein' a gentleman!"

"Ah think he doth protest too much," Rogue grinned, obviously enjoying herself. "You're gettin' all red, Cajun."

"'Course I am, it's an embarrassin' suggestion! Come on, Roguey, what would you call a grown man attracted to a sixteen-year-old girl?"

"Heterosexual?" Rogue smirked. "Well, if talkin' about it offends your delicate sensibilities…."

"_Thank_ you," Gambit grumbled. "Sooner we leave dis ridiculous subject d'better." Now it was his turn to change the subject. Gambit did it somewhat more awkwardly than Rogue, he thought, as he heard himself say "Speakin' of Jubilee, how's de voices in your head?" 

"Mean way to phrase it," Rogue said. "Y'all make it sound like Ah'm some crazy person."

"Figured you'd know what I meant." Gambit snapped, struggling to regain his unflappable cool.

"Ah do. An' Ah'm feelin' better," Rogue admitted. She touched her temples cautiously; her hands were no longer shaking. "Quieter up here, anyway. Guess Ah should go back."

Gambit shook his head, quickly rising. "Stay here," he said. "Get some rest. You look like you need it."

"Ah ain't even brushed my teeth," Rogue protested, and began to rise, but Gambit caught her by the shoulder and pushed her back down – though he was careful to touch only fabric. Rogue blinked and fell silent.

"You've been workin' hard enough," he said. "I'll get your stuff."

Rogue didn't try to rise again, but she didn't look convinced. "Why you bein' so nice to me?" She asked suspiciously, yawning and setting her empty whiskey glass on the bedside table, beside Gambit's.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Gambit said. "Jubilee's fine, an' we're working together. Got no reason to be less den cordial wit' you."

"We're not _really_ on the same side," Rogue said, shaking her head. "Ah mean, you're officially with the Brotherhood, but Ah ain't fooled. An' Ah doubt anyone else, neither."

Gambit shrugged. "You're not the Brotherhood," he said. "You're Rogue. I don' mind you. Just ain't fond of your loyalties."

Rogue frowned – then yawned again. "Ah'm too tired to argue with your twisty swamp rat logic," she pronounced. She dug in the enormous pocket of her flannel nightgown and handed him a cardkey. "Ah'm in 2558. If you tell anyone at all about this, you'll disappear mysteriously and Ah'll have neat kinetic powers."

"What's dere to tell?" Gambit said, walking to the door and glancing back. "We had a drink together. Borin'. I got better stories den that. Ever tell you de one where I tried to steal de assassin's gator?"

Rogue groaned. "Okay, okay, get out."

"I'm serious," Gambit insisted. "It was deir mascot. Dey called it Sassy and – "

"Get out, get out, get out!" Rogue laughed.

"Can't kick me outta my own apartment, Roguey."

"Watch me!" She balled up one of her socks and tossed it at him. He ducked, laughing. "An' Ah'll know if anythin' disappears, too, so don't try it!"

Gambit closed the door just as Rogue's other sock hit it, still chuckling, though silently now. He took the elevator to the second floor and strode down the hallway, silent as a big cat, the noise of sleeping people in the apartments as audible to the hair-triggered thief as their waking lives would have been. He keycarded Rogue's room and stepped in.

Her toothbrush and hairbrush were in her bathroom. Gambit threw those in his pocket, then walked to her closet. He didn't want to sniff through her stuff -- Rogue would know, she was just that type. Still, he didn't want her to have to endure the walk of shame back to her apartment the next day, particular considering that she claimed she now held some position of authority. After a moment's hesitation, Gambit grabbed a black sweater and a pair of cut-off jeans. Remy didn't dare bringing her clean socks and panties as well, though he considered it – hygienic concerns were one thing, but Gambit didn't think he'd survive explaining to Rogue that he'd been in her underwear drawer. He closed the closet, turned out the lights, and headed back the way he'd come.

When Gambit returned to his apartment, he could hear Rogue snoring before he opened the door. She was curled up in a ball on his bed, exactly the way she'd slept as a child. Gambit chuckled and set her things on the bedside table, beside his empty glass, and put her keycard on top of the pile. "_I eat when I'm hungry_," he hummed, taking a spare blanket from the cupboard, shaking it out, and spreading it over Rogue, "_An' I drink when I'm dry_." He hit the light switch. "_If whiskey don't kill me, I'll live an' I'll die_. Night, _chere_," he added to the impassive Rogue, who applauded his heartfelt song with an especially heartfelt snore. Gambit smiled, lay down on the hardwood floor, closed his eyes and went to sleep. When he woke up in the night, Rogue was gone.


	16. Playing With Fire

Gambit's eyes were on her

Gambit's eyes were on her. Jubilee could feel them. During training, when they were in the cafeteria together, when they passed on different errands in the hall. He was always looking at her, red-eyed up-and-downs that left Jubilee in sore need of a cold shower. The funny thing was, they hadn't spoken much; Gambit was biding his time, licking his chops. Jubilee felt high-strung as the wire attached to a piano key, waiting to get played. It wasn't like she was imagining it. Other people were starting to notice.

"He's always looking at you," Pyro told her, during a water break. A smart-assed Land-Down-Under grin was plastered on his ruddy face. He held the button on the water fountain for Jubilee as she bent over for a drink, pulling her sheet of heavy black hair out of the way with both hands.

"Get serious, Sherlock," Jubilee ordered, feeling very pleased. She straightened up, pulling the back of her hand across her damp mouth. "He's always looking at _all_ of us. How's he gonna help us train if he doesn't know what we're doing wrong?"

"What?" said Pyro. "Not Gambit, pet." There were windows in the VR chamber's double doors. Pyro jerked his chin towards them, in the direction of someone Jubilee couldn't see. "Nightcrawler. He's got an eye on you. Should I be jealous?"

"No, Call-Me-Pyro," Jubilee snorted, "Because there's nothing to get jealous about, because absolutely nil lies between us." She attempted to step past him.

Pyro blocked her path. "'Us' you and him or 'us' me and you?"

"'Us' _US Weekly_," Jubilee said sarcastically. "Move or get blinded by the light."

"Fine," Allerdyce snapped. Jubilee swished past him with an extra-cute, extra-annoying flick of her ponytail. She figured he deserved it. "Whatever."

"You two take long enough out dere," Gambit snapped, as Jubilee, then Pyro, pushed through the heavy double doors. The Cajun was taping up one of his palms, and kept his eyes on that. He also kept his tone carefully modulated, which was how Jubilee knew he was annoyed. "I said a water break, not a vacation. Hope you got some skiing in."

"She didn't give me any time for skiing," Pyro retorted, with a cocky grin that Gambit was meant to misconstrue. Jubilee, horrified, glanced at her teammates. Avalanche raised his eyebrows; Vertigo looked impressed. Kurt's expression was as unreadable as Gambit's. "We were too busy with _other_ activities."

Gambit's eyebrows rose fractionally, though he didn't look up. "Should I have sent you wit' a chaperone?"

"A world of no in a galaxy of ew," Jubilee said quickly. Nightcrawler coughed a little. Gambit frowned, still refusing to look at his tardy charges, and silence swamped in the corners of the room.

Finally he sighed, and Jubilee let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "I am _tryin'_ to run a tight ship here," Gambit said coolly. He broke off the athletic tape and tucked the end under at the base of his thumb before looking up. "It don' help when I send you off for water and got to start worrying you eloped. Not dat I expect much from you, Allerdyce. But Jubilee, _m'allumeuse_, come on. You can do better."

Gambit's tone was less fond than usual, which rankled Jubilee, though she knew he had a point. "We were just gone for a second, Gambit," she snapped, sticking out her chin defiantly. "Cool your jets."

"You would find a way to bring Gambit's jets into this," Pyro muttered.

Jubilee kicked St. John in the shins with as much subtlety as possible. "And anyway, as you can see -- " she cheerfully struck a pose, willing Gambit out of his moodiness – "We're in top fighting form. And ready when you are. And stuff." Lebeau's silence was unimpressed. Jubilee batted her eyelashes a little, adding nervously "Boss."

Remy let the silence wind around itself again – then, abruptly, he shrugged and turned away. "We'll see 'bout dat song an' dance. Everyone get in startin' positions for de Genosha simulation. Dis time, I -- " Gambit broke off, turning back, as the double doors groaned; his eyebrows rose into that Chesire-Cat unreadable look. Jubilee followed his gaze and immediately stepped forwards in nervous surprise.

Rogue had slipped into the VR room. The older girl now stood against the far wall, arms folded against her flat chest. "Ah'm not interruptin', Ah hope?"

Gambit regarded Rogue, smiling in a way Jubilee wasn't sure she liked. "Can I help you, _chere_?" he asked at length, rather grandly, a benign king welcoming an admirer.

Jubilee watched Rogue tilt her chin at him, biting her lip. The brunette didn't answer at first. "Y'all runnin' a private party, Jedi Master?" She murmured finally, trying to smile. "Or can this young grasshopper take a class or two?"

Gambit's answer was to charge a card and flick it at Rogue, who instinctively flinched. Jubilee winced as well. Gambit had made a habit of carrying cards as ammo since that night in Xavier's garden. Jubilee suspected it was meant as a reminder -- or a warning.

Rogue shielded her face, but the card's red light faded, and the Queen of Spades burnt out at her feet. "Ain't gonna go easy on you,_ chere_," Gambit said with a grin, by way of unconvincing explanation. "But if you really want…."

Rogue sniffed, poking at the undetonated cardboard square with her steel-toed boot. She didn't look impressed. "Isn't the whole point of this trainin' thing that you're _supposed_ to be a challenge?"

"Well, when you put it like dat, how can a man refuse?" Gambit inquired rhetorically, over his shoulder, as he stepped towards the Plexiglas-shielded computer consoles controlling the chamber's VR. "We're doing the Genosha simulation. Jump on in." With no further warning, Gambit triggered the simulation.

Jubilee didn't have another opportunity to frowningly dissect the intricacies of Rogue and Gambit's conversation. She was too busy avoiding being collared like a stray cat by Genoshan soldiers. The Genosha simulation spanned the entire VR room – both the ground floor and the breakneck, rickety catwalks – and transformed the chamber into the burning ruins of a military base, complete with frenzied, bloodthirsty army grunts, going for broke with all their varied weaponry. Jubilee generally tried not to get distracted during VR training. The soldiers might all be holograms, but the punches they packed were real enough -- the bruises on Jubilee's arms and legs could attest to that. Besides, she never had a second to really plan or prepare. Gambit preferred VR missions that launched you right into the thick of the action, and so Jubilee immediately found herself hemmed in by chaos and combat on all sides. Rogue, on the other hand, didn't seem taken off guard. She took a cool, measuring look at her environment, then breathed deeply, stiffened her torso, jumped into the air – and _stayed _there.

Jubilee's jaw dropped. _She can FLY? Holy crap, is this girl even HUMAN?_

"Quit gawkin' and move your _derriere_, Jubilee!" Gambit yelled at her from – somewhere – she couldn't see him. "'Less you _want_ to be a sittin' duck."

"Yes, Lord Vader," Jubilee yelled back in her best evil-henchman voice, and she could hear Gambit chuckle. Okay, she'd made him laugh. Now down to business. Jubilee nodded to herself and executed an expert back flip over a pile of burning debris, planting a heel in the nose of a Genoshan infantryman – and acknowledging Kurt's quick, admiring grin with a brief smile of her own. These combat simulations weren't easy, but Jubilee enjoyed them, if just for the novel experience of being an effectual participant. She'd always figured her powers wouldn't be much help in a fight, but under Gambit's tuition, Jubilee was quickly discovering that "just fireworks" could wreak an awful lot of thoroughly enjoyable havoc.

"Put your tricks to some use on de catwalks, _petit_!" Gambit chastised her. Jubilee could see him now -- he was sheltered behind a burnt-out building, flicking charged cards sniper-like at the soldiers while he kept a critical eye on his students. "You ain't challengin' yourself down here."

He was all sweaty now, Jubilee noticed. Tendrils of dark hair had fallen forward over his forehead in damp Boticelli curls. _Maybe he'll have to take off his – concentrate, Jubilation, you pathetic teenybopper!_

"Where do you want me?" Jubilee called back, and immediately enjoyed all the mental images that particular choice in words could call to mind. _Nothing wrong with a little imagination!_

"Get up on the second level wit' Rogue."

"Promise to start picking on someone else?!"

"Kurt, you're impressin' no one wit' de victory poses!" Jubilee heard Gambit yell obligingly at Nightcrawler a second later. Laughing, she sought out the shaky ladder to the upper level. On the catwalks, Rogue had taken on the Genoshan general. This was scarcely less impressive than flying itself. The general was a human battering ram and, in Jubilee's experience, easily the most challenging one-on-one battle within the simulation. Rogue had engaged him expertly in close-quarters combat at the edge of the catwalk, and Jubilee couldn't see the brunette even breaking a sweat.

_Better her than me_, Jubilee thought unsympathetically, and chose a somewhat safer position near the wall as she distracted a newfound thug-ogram with a carefully timed explosion. He had about two seconds to look alarmed before she took his feet out with a roundhouse kick. "Yellow belt, sucker!" she pleasantly informed the hologram soldier as she moved in for the kill. It was a nice feeling, not having to rely on any –

"Got you covered!" Pyro exclaimed jubilantly, swooping down in front of Jubilee and pushing her backwards.

Jubilee stumbled, fireworks fizzling out. "Pyro! The hell are you doing?"

Pyro shot her a brief, cocky grin, fire cradled in both his palms, then turned back to the Genoshan. "Don't worry," he replied. "You can thank me later."

"Thank you for what?" Jubilee cried indignantly, scrambling to her feet and trying to dust herself off. "I had that guy!"

"Sure you did, love." Pyro turned back to the soldier. Jubilee had already weakened the thug; it took Allerdyce only a little firepower, and no critical thinking, to drop him. Pyro whooped in triumph as the hologram faded away, turning to face her again. "One goal for St. John Allerdyce and one _beautiful_ assist by the lovely Jubilation Lee!"

"_Assist_ nothing!" Jubilee snapped.

"Less talk, more fight!" Gambit yelled at them from his bunker. "I warn you two already!"

"Go help _Rogue,_" Jubilee sniffed, setting her arms akimbo as Pyro's winning smile slowly faded. "_She's_ the one taking on the general. Don't give me help I didn't ask for."

Pyro frowned at her. "Don't be a poor sport, love," he said soothingly, and tried to touch her shoulder. Jubilee jerked it irritably away, momentarily envious of Rogue's mutation. "It's just 'cause of my powers. Nothing to do with talent."

After a quick glance around to ensure they weren't about to be beaned over the head by Genoshans – which they weren't, though Rogue was still sparring mere meters away – Jubilee crossed her arms across her chest. "What the _hell_ is _that_ supposed to mean?" she growled. "_What_ exactly is just because of your powers?"

Pyro hesitated, then tried to turn away. "Gambit said – "

Jubilee grabbed St. John's shoulder, spinning him back around. Her own action caught her off guard -- she hadn't realized she was strong enough to do that. By the look on his face, neither had Pyro. "Screw what Gambit said!" she snapped hotly, recovering from her surprise. "What the hell did you mean by that?"

Pyro rolled his eyes, rubbing his shoulder where Jubilee had grabbed him. "Just that fire's a _little _more dangerous than _strobe lights_." He noticed what he was doing and dropped his hand, looking embarrassed. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. You work really hard."

"You're an idiot," Jubilee said, "_John_." Her voice was shaking. She hadn't realized she was actually upset.

Allerdyce flushed dark red. "Don't call me that," he hissed.

"If you're such an effing badass, why don't you stop me?" Jubilee suggested.

"I don't fight girls."

"Yeah you do, genius," Jubilee laughed. Even to her ears, it was unpleasant. "All the time. And you generally lose."

St. John hesitated. "I'm not getting into this with you," he abruptly announced, trying to turn away again. "You're taking the mick."

"The mick remains in a safe location," Jubilee shot back, "And don't you dare try to take the high road now that you've good and insulted me."

"What," Pyro snorted. He'd started out jokingly, but Jubilee could tell she was really bothering him now. Well, good. He'd pissed her off. "You're going to try to say your powers are so bad? That you're a _tough_ little trust fund baby?"

"I may be a trust fund baby," Jubilee snapped, resisting the urge to stamp childishly on the catwalk's grating, "But I survived on the streets of LA for like _months_. Powers are only as good as the person behind them and you don't even rank. Sorry, _John_. Better luck and all that."

Pyro took a step towards her. "Shut your mouth. You have no idea what I've been through."

"Possibly you were attacked by psychotic kangaroos?"

St. John glowered. "I'm serious, Lee. I'm warning you."

"Which is just about as scary as your powers," Jubilee mused, "Which, I'll remind you, require the copious use of a Zippo lighter to even get it up." Clumsy metaphor, but Jubilee gave herself ten points for word selection. Innuendo was always a good way to win against with a teenage boy.

Pyro's eyes flashed. He hadn't missed the implications of her phrasing. "You're telling me you don't find fire intimidating?"

He stepped towards her again. They were mere inches apart, now. St. John's eyes were dark brown, Jubilee saw, with flecks of ruby-red along the other edge of the iris. The girl could see her own face in his wide pupils, almond eyes narrow, mouth stretched into a sneer. "No," she lied. "Not really."

"Oh, yeah?" said Pyro, and he stepped back abruptly, pupils dilating. "How about now?"

Jubilee blinked. "What?"

Allerdyce snapped his fingers, and a fireball exploded inches from Jubilee's nose.

Jubilee screamed and threw herself backwards, then was immediately mortified. Both the scream and the fall were unbearably girly reactions. Then, rubbing her face, she realized her hands were coming away sooty, and she could smell singed hair, harsh and acrid in the closed chamber. If she hadn't jumped backwards, Jubilee would have gotten burnt for real. _It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye. Or gains a third degree burn._ Pyro was watching Jubilee with a smug expression; he didn't even help her up.

Rogue was watching too – she had glanced up at Jubilee's scream, making sure she and Pyro didn't need help. Unfortunately, that was all the opening the woman's opponent needed. The general grinned and backhanded Rogue so hard across the temple with a steel-gloved hand that Rogue was lifted clean off her feet.

"Oh my god!" Jubilee squeaked, scrambling to her feet, terrified that Rogue wouldn't even land on the catwalk. Rogue did land on the balcony, however – skullfirst, with a sickening, jarring crack. Pyro spun at the noise, and Jubilee could see Rogue's eyes, already dazed from the general's blow, go completely blank. Then, as Jubilee watched helplessly, Rogue slipped over the catwalk's edge.

Jubilee thought she was going to scream again, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. All she could do was watch the train wreck unfold, with a sick, nauseated feeling that had nothing to do with Vertigo's powers.

_Falling, falling, falling._ Rogue seemed to slip through the dead air forever, and then suddenly she hit the floor with an awful, awful thump, on her stomach, legs curled under her. She didn't get up, didn't move, just lay there like a rag doll, like something dead. Everyone was watching now, everyone had heard the crash. For a long, horrible second, nobody breathed. Then –

"Rogue!" Nightcrawler cried, teleporting instantly to her side, cradling her tenderly as a brother. He touched her face, her closed eyes, her neck, trying to take a pulse, face threadbare with worry.

Gambit shut the simulation off; the burning ruins of Genosha faded, simulated urban decay fluttering away with an electric hum. _For all the good that'll do,_ Jubilee thought despairingly. Sure, the general had vanished like smoke, but the catwalk Rogue had fallen from was no more a simulation than the very real cement she'd hit.

Gambit immediately darted to Rogue's side. "She okay?" He demanded of Nightcrawler, kneeling down as well.

"She's alive," Nightcrawler retorted, glaring at Gambit, "If zat's vhat you mean. You tell me if she's 'okay'."

Vertigo and Avalanche, who had been on the main floor, were silently inching towards the scene of the accident. Pyro fled down the ladder much more quickly, rushing towards Rogue. Jubilee followed him reluctantly, arriving last, and hanging back timidly when she reached the others. She was terrified. What disaster had one thoughtless scream caused? What was she about to be blamed for?

Gambit was bending over Rogue in Kurt's arms. He covered his hand in a handkerchief, then ran it down the knobs of her spine. "Her back's okay," he reported after a tense second, "And she's breathing."

"What?" Rogue mumbled. Her eyes flickered open. Vertigo made a soft, relieved sound in her throat. "Course Ah'm breathin'. What happened?" She glanced up at Kurt's face, still dazed, barely conscious. "What happened?"

Gambit glanced at Pyro and Jubilee. "Dat's a very good question," he muttered, and Jubilee cringed as Gambit turned back to Rogue, who was attempting to rise to her feet. "_Chere_, I don' think you should – "

"Don't be stupid," Rogue mumbled – then suddenly she flinched, biting her lip so hard that blood appeared. She fell back into Kurt's arms again, holding her leg, and breathing unevenly as she tried not to cry. Her eyes were still unfocussed.

"Rogue?" Vertigo whispered.

"Ah'm fine. Really, Ah'm fine," Rogue whispered, but she didn't try to move again, and there were tears in her eyes.

"Maybe she has a concussion," Avalanche suggested coolly to Gambit, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Ah don't have a con – conca – that thing," Rogue protested unconvincingly.

"I'm gonna get Doctor McCoy," Jubilee said quickly, heading for the door.

"You wait just a second," Gambit snapped. "What happened up dere?"

"Jubilee screamed," Pyro replied immediately. "Rogue got distracted. It was an accident."

"'Jubilee screamed'," Gambit echoed, almost mockingly, eyeing first St. John and then Jubilee as they both squirmed. Jubilee stared at the floor as Gambit snorted. "You think I wasn't watchin', Allerdyce? Jubilee _screamed_ because a _fireball_ exploded in front of her. Pretty reasonable reaction, since her hair almost went up in flames. An' I don' have to guess where dat fireball come from." Jubilee slowly looked up and realized Gambit wasn't even looking at her. His glare was fixed on Pyro. "The hell were you doin', tryin' to scare her? Or just to show off?"

"No, I was – " Allerdyce began, but Gambit held up a hand, rising to his feet and striding to the door.

"On second thought, save it," he said briefly. "You can explain yourself when we ain't dealing wit' serious injuries caused by your stupidity. I'm gonna go get doctor McCoy. Pyro, you help Kurt get Rogue get back to her rooms. She's gonna need a hand gettin' along."

Pyro glanced at Rogue, at the gaps of bare skin showing between glove and shirt sleeve, at the holes and worn bits in her clothes inflicted in the VR battle. He took a step towards her. Then he hesitated. Rogue, who was barely conscious anyway, looked totally bewildered.

"What's de problem?" Gambit called, turning back. He was already halfway through the door.

"You're closer, Dom," Pyro said, stepping back from Rogue, and refusing to meet her wounded eyes. "You help her."

"You're the one who shoved her," Avalanche snapped. He too was staring at Rogue's bare skin. "Why should I – " Rogue's eyes flickered shut. Jubilee couldn't tell whether she'd understood the argument.

Gambit, on the other hand, had understood it very well. "I can't believe what I'm hearing," he said quietly, stepping back inside.

Pyro cleared his throat. "I'm just saying that – "

"Allerdyce?" Gambit said evenly, looking Pyro in the eye.

Pyro stuck out his jaw. "Yeah?"

"Get outta my sight."

"I'm just – "

"Get OUT."

St. John hesitated, then 'got out' – rushed past Gambit through the doors, cheeks again flaming. Gambit stepped aside as though he didn't want Pyro's very presence to contaminate him.

"You too, Petrakis," Gambit snapped at Avalanche, and Dom turned on his heel and followed St. John, a surly, dangerous expression on his dark face. Vertigo turned, then, and glared snake-eyes at Jubilee, for no reason Jubilee could fathom.

"Cowards," Gambit muttered. He stepped back into the VR chamber, boots thudding on the cement, and walked to Rogue's side.

"I would offer to teleport her to Doctor McCoy's office," Kurt said, tail lashing anxiously from side to side, "But ze effect of ze trip, on even ze uninjured –

"Dat's okay, Kurt, I get it," Gambit assured him quietly. "I ain't about to send you into exile. Go find Hank. Tell him he's needed."

"I could – " Jubilee offered again.

"I'm aimin' for speed here, _petite_," Gambit said tersely, cutting her off. Kurt nodded, gently lifting Rogue and setting her on the ground. Her eyes were still closed. Smoke and a burst of brimstone, and Nightcrawler was gone.

Gambit knelt at Rogue's side, touching her shoulder. She opened her eyes. "If you'll allow me the honor, _chere_," he said chivalrously.

Rogue was beginning to look less dazed and more hideously embarrassed. "Just give me a minute to breathe, Remy. Ah don't need you to – "

Gambit bent and scooped Rogue up in both arms, ignoring all further protests. "You two head back to your rooms," he told Vertigo and Jubilee. "I shouldn't even have to say it, but trainin' is over for de day."

"Okay," Jubilee mumbled numbly. Vertigo went to the bench to gather up their stuff.

"And Jubilee?" Gambit was watching her grimly, Rogue cradled apparently effortlessly in his arms.

"Yes?" Jubilee murmured, heart sinking.

"You and I will talk later," Gambit said, and, turning on his heel, he swept out the door.

_A/N: Better late than never?_


	17. Fragile Things

Rogue was heavy, Gambit thought, bearing her down the corridor to Doctor McCoy's office

Rogue was heavy, Gambit thought, bearing her down the corridor to Doctor McCoy's office. Thin, but all muscle. She struggled, winced as it jiggled her leg, and lay still, lethal body cradled against his chest. "You in a lot of pain, _chere_?" Remy asked.

"No," Rogue insisted breathlessly. A sheet of tears had welled in her eyes; she was refusing to allow them to spill, breathing in ragged, stubborn little gasps. Gambit shifted his left forearm under Rogue's weight and snapped his fingers briskly in front of her nose; Rogue blinked reflexively, and her tears flowed free. "Yes," she confessed, then, and raised a shamed, shaky hand to hide her eyes; still, her body relaxed a little in his arms.

"Think you broke it?" Gambit inquired quietly, when Rogue's shuddering breaths had evened.

"My leg ain't the worst of it," Rogue mumbled, still covering her face.

Gambit glanced down, then quickly looked away. "You hit your head hard." It wasn't what Rogue had meant, but it was true – a cloud of mottled blue rose beneath the milk-white of her forehead and cheek. _Bruises near to as bad as mine were_, Remy thought, without a trace of satisfaction. Rogue was his enemy, of course, and she was stubborn and cold and cruel. But Remy Lebeau had known this girl since she was a child. She'd grown up proud and strong and beautiful, and he took no pleasure from her pain. She wasn't his friend, but she was _Rogue_, and she always would be.

"_J'arrive,_" he murmured, pushing the door to McCoy's office open with his shoulder. McCoy could hardly have expected them; it was sheer luck, Gambit thought, that they hadn't been locked out. This office, on the main floor, was distinctly separate from Beast's basement laboratory; that was for experiments which never saw the light of day. This office was McCoy's public face, and it displayed the comforting, genial blankness of any GP's; right down to the insipid framed landscapes on the wall, the candy jars full of cotton swabs and individually packaged alcohol wipes sitting in a row along the counter. Gambit lowered Rogue onto the couch; she whimpered as her shin made contact with the cushion. Neither of them moved for a second. Rogue lay on the sofa with silent tears streaking down her cheeks. Gambit watched her, hands shoved in trench coat pockets, with a mercilessness he put forth only when he didn't know what else to do.

Rogue had closed her eyes again. Gambit didn't know much about medicine, but he knew a person wasn't supposed to sleep if they'd hit their head. "Roguey," he said, touching Rogue's shoulder. She ignored him. "Don't ignore me, _chere, _stay wit' me now. Hank be here in a minute."

"Gambit," Rogue said wearily, not opening her eyes, "When you got beaten to all hell, Ah gave you time to sleep it off. Now please have the good grace just to let me rest my eyes a little."

"No, Rogue, come on now," Gambit persisted, nudging her again. "You got to stay wit' me here. I ain't gonna be responsible for your untimely demise."

Rogue snorted. "Why'd you care? Ah should think you'd be pleased to see the back a'me."

"Well, for one thing," Gambit said, quite logically, "Sinister'd flay me alive, anything happened to you while he was gone. I got to save my own skin."

Rogue rolled her half-open eyes. "Y'all really know how to make a girl feel wanted," she said wearily. "Ah ain't gonna say you don't know what pain Ah'm in, Gambit, 'cause Ah seen you in it and worse. But that's why Ah'm askin' you _please_ to have some sympathy an' just… let me deal with this my own way."

"Goin' into shock ain't no way to deal with pain." Gambit stubbornly declaimed.

"Gambit, please," Rogue sobbed, hands to her temples. "It ain't jus' me in here, remember? Ah got – a whole _Rogue's gallery,_ yellin' that Ah just 'bout killed 'em, and they're right, and Ah can't – Ah can't – " Rogue broke off, drawing shallow uneven little breaths, and closed her eyes again. She whispered, "Are there any painkillers in here?"

Glad to have been assigned something practical to do, Gambit quickly rose to his feet, opened and closed drawers. Beast practically maintained a whole pharmacy up in this little office, Gambit mused. Yet he couldn't find Motrin or Tylenol or anything else he felt comfortable administering – just rows and rows of inscrutably labeled pills and powders. "Water, water everywhere," Gambit muttered, turning back to Rogue. "Sorry, girl. Don't see any aspirin."

"How 'bout morphine?" Rogue mumbled. She pressed her hands over her bruised face, blocking out the light.

Gambit didn't say anything. He watched Rogue lie there on the couch, pale and still, eerie as a mannequin. Remy hesitated inside himself, struggled with what to do. Then he made up his mind and touched Rogue's shoulder again, saying softly, "Rogue."

"_Please_ leave me alone," Rogue moaned.

"Hear me out, _chere_. Remember when we were in de elevator? On dat first day?"

"What?" Rogue croaked, opening one cranky and confused eye.

"When I… you know… and you told me 'don't'?"

"Yeah, Ah remember," Rogue snapped, closing her eyes again. "You were bein' a real bastard. Ah was surprised you stopped when Ah told you to."

"You said 'don't', an' I didn't," Gambit said. "But if you want a painkiller, you know – dat'll do you."

"How d'you mean?" Rogue asked, after several seconds.

"I don't quite know how dis part works," Gambit admitted, "But de folks I've used it on said to me later dat… well, I jus' think it might take de edge off de pain for you."

Rogue regarded Lebeau suspiciously. "You're talkin' 'bout your charm power," she said slowly, narrowing her eyes.

"Yeah."

"Y'always used to deny you even _had_ that."

"Didn't realize myself at first," Gambit said. "An' when I finally figured it out, it was just… embarassin'. Made people not trust me."

"That ain't what makes folks not trust you, Gambit," Rogue said shortly. They were both silent for a second. Then she added cautiously, "In the elevator, Ah didn't just feel… float-y. You made me all... You made me _like_ you."

"Dat's de charm part of it," Gambit pointed out.

"Yeah, well, Ah got no guarantee you won't do that again."

"No, you don't got any guarantee," Gambit agreed. "But _cherie_ -- no offense meant -- you're hardly lookin' your best. I really ain't plannin' to take advantage. Maybe you can't conceive of it, but I jus' want to help."

"I don't understand," said Rogue, who looked as though she really didn't. "What's in it for you?"

"Nothing's in it for me," replied Gambit. "An' I won't charm you wit'out your permission, an' I won't promise you dat it'll work, 'cause I don't know _how_ it works. But if you want, I'm willin' to try."

"Ah just bet you're willin'," Rogue snapped, sitting up straighter. The movement jarred her leg, and she gasped in pain, pressing both hands against her mouth as fresh tears sprang to her eyes.

"Up to you, _chere_," Gambit quietly reminded Rogue, as she fought the pain alone. He would have _liked_ to charm her right now, with or without her permission -- she was as pale as a cadaver, and her hands were trembling with pain. But Rogue had warned him off once, and he wouldn't go there again; she'd only use it against him, regardless of his intentions.

"Okay," Rogue gasped, as soon as she could trust herself to speak without sobbing. "Okay. Do it now."

Rogue really was in a lot of pain, Gambit thought, to even consider accepting this kind of help. He knelt at her side and leaned in, staring her in the eye. Rogue, uncomfortable, dropped her gaze to her hands, which twisted white-knuckled in her lap. "Roguey," Gambit said, "Dis'll work a lot better if you look at me."

Rogue's eyes flickered towards him, then dropped again.

"_Chere_," he persisted, but Rogue ignored him. Finally, with an impatient sigh, Gambit reached forward and roughly lifted Rogue's chin so that she met his gaze squarely, if reluctantly.

Her eyes were always so green, startlingly green. Full of tears, now, they looked like blurred jade. _What a cliché_, Gambit thought. He concentrated, gazing into Rogue's panic-wide eyes. He was never quite sure how he got this part to work -- he only knew when it did. A moment later, Rogue was blinking rapidly, her gaze unfocussed, a slightly dreamy smile touching her lips. The color didn't return to her face, but her hands slowly stopped shaking.

"Any better?" Gambit asked her quietly, after a second. Rogue nodded wordlessly. She leaned back, rested her head on the arm of the sofa, and closed her eyes. "Keep your eyes open, _chere. _Stay wit' me." This time, Rogue obliged without complaining. Gambit gently touched her shin, and Rogue flinched, but didn't pull away. He withdrew his hand and they sat in the silence, no sound audible but Rogue's ragged breathing, which had evened out a bit, and deepened.

Something occurred to Gambit, and then he wished it hadn't. _Shouldn't do that._ Rogue would consider it taking advantage, questioning her under charm power, when she couldn't think straight enough to lie. Besides, there was no guarantee that Gambit would like the truth, when he heard it. But here they both were, Gambit thought, and opportunity had knocked, and Gambit didn't know when he'd have the chance to ask her again. _A man can resist everything but temptation,_ he shrugged to himself, and gave in, turning to Rogue and asking, "Why'd you stop 'em, _cherie_?"

It always took people a second to respond under charm power, but Gambit watched Rogue insistently, waiting for an answer. She was actually more lucid than most, hesitating only a second before breathing, "Who?" 

"Sinister's SWAT team," Gambit said. "De ones usin' me as a brush to paint de town red. Sinister said you stopped 'em. Else I'd be dead."

"Oh, that," Rogue mumbled. She tried to sit up, pay attention to the question, but wound up just slumping back in a different position, her bowed head now pressing into Gambit's chest. Gambit looked down at her chestnut hair, the heavy waves parted straight down the middle, that birch-bark silver streak. Her hair smelled like green apple, he thought, and wondered absently what would happen if he touched it. Did it count as part of her body? Wasn't hair just dead cells? You'd think it would be all right to touch it.

"Ah dunno," Rogue murmured. "Somethin' jus' came over me." She glanced up. "But we're even now. You helped me too. Thank you for this, Remy."

"You don't have to mention it," Gambit said wryly. "In de future I'm sure we'll both prefer you don't." He thought about her answer, then, clasping one hand around the other and setting his chin atop them. "So savin' my life was an attack of conscience, den?"

"Wasn't a guilt trip, if that's what you mean," Rogue replied. She hadn't moved from where she curled against Gambit; he gently grasped her shoulders and eased her back onto the couch, careful not to jar her leg. "It was just -- Ah really liked you. When Ah was little."

"I'm very flattered," said Gambit, with a humorous sort of stoicism.

Rogue laughed, a wistful, faraway sound. "Not like Ah had a crush or nothin'. You were just… my big brother. You remember that time we went to see the fireworks together? It was Mardi Gras, an' no one cared except for us?"

"No," said Gambit.

"Ah fell asleep in your jacket," Rogue recalled. "Cold night for fireworks. Remember when Kurt arrived an' didn't know no English an' you taught him all the swear words?"

"No," said Gambit, who remembered very well.

"He still knows 'em. Once in a while he dusts 'em off when someone slams a door on his tail. You remember when you read my fortune on my birthday? Ah'd meet someone tall dark and handsome and travel far away? Do you remember the card tricks you did?"

"God damn it," Gambit hissed, and sprang to his feet. Turning his back on Rogue, he fled to the opposite corner of the room in quick, powerful strides.

Rogue watched him, mystified. "Remy?"

"Why did you stay here?" Gambit demanded. He wanted to seize her by the neck and shake her until she saw good common sense. He stopped bothering with his charm power, and the pain and wariness returned to Rogue's eyes, and lingered. "Why didn't you understand? Why didn't you leave? Dis place'll drain you dry."

"This place is my home, Re -- Gambit." Rogue said softly, shaking her head. Her voice was hoarse and hard again. "My family. Ah never had no other."

"You had me," Gambit growled.

"No, Ah didn't have you!" Rogue cried. "How can you say that? You up and disappeared one day and next time Ah saw you, you was fightin' against us. How could Ah still have thought a'you as family? How could Ah have thought that Ah could go to you? Give you half a chance, Ah thought you mighta killed me."

Rogue always had a way with words. A way of stabbing you in the gut with them, to be precise, and then twisting the knife. "You know now," Gambit insisted, rounded on Rogue, while useless guilt and regret rose in him like a tide. "I'm tellin' you now."

"It's too late now."

"No, it's not!"

_BAMF!_

"Too late for what?" Henry McCoy demanded, impatiently whisking away brimstone and smoke with both paws. He was trailing a large amount of loose paper and coffee and so on, spectacles askew on his feline nose; he had obviously been teleported directly from his office by Nightcrawler, with little time devoted to preparation. Kurt had immediately rushed to Rogue's side, completely ignoring Gambit, and he murmured something to her, and she murmured back.

"Surely not the patient?" Beast continued, eying Rogue with immense trepidation. "Rogue, light of my life, untouchable Arthurian warrior maiden of my heart, _'do not forsake me, o my darling'_! We'd never find a Southern belle to replace your unique brand of world-weariness and cynicism."

"It ain't as bad as all that," Rogue replied wryly, sitting up as best she could, "And Ah really don't think Ah'm dyin'. That said, Ah _would_ appreciate it if you'd check." She tried to smile at Beast, murmured reassuringly to Nightcrawler, didn't spare Gambit so much as one more glance.

It was nine o'clock at night. Beast gave Rogue Tylenol-3 and sent her in for X-rays. Gambit went to the staff bar and had a stiff drink, then another one, then amused the waitress with various bar tricks – her favorite was removing a lighter from underneath a bottle, without touching the bottle. Gambit was sure she'd seen it before, but he appreciated her enthusiasm. Vertigo visited Pyro where he sulked in his room, a Fall Out Boy CD under one arm, illicit vodka under the other, and hope in her heart. Pyro took the vodka and kicked her out. Jubilee dragged herself to her room in utter misery, sat cross-legged on her bed, and, eventually, fell asleep with her pillow clutched over her stomach, lamp still on. Pyro drank Vertigo's vodka and wrote an angsty sonnet which was entitled "Darkness In My Soul" and which rhymed occasionally. Gambit escaped the thoroughly enamored barmaid at last call, Rogue spent the night in McCoy's lab for observation, and soon morning rolled around. It arrived much too early for Jubilee, who was sore, guilty, and not at all ready for her nine AM gymnastics class. This lack of preparation did not escape Alison Blaire.

"You haven't practiced," Ali said accusingly.

"OhyesIhave," Jubilee blurted, so defensively that she knew she was busted.

"Bullshit," Alison snapped. "You haven't practiced, so there's no point doing this again. God, Jubilee, did you call me in just to waste my time? I could have been sleeping. Not like I didn't need it after last night, it was god-awful, you have absolutely no idea."

Jubilee crossed her arms where she sat on the blue floor mats. She was _so_ not in the mood. "You want to trade sob stories about last night, Alison? I nearly got someone killed. I win."

She instantly wished she hadn't said a word. Alison turned, regarding her through black-lined eyes which were quite wide, then very narrow. Jubilee bit her lip and looked away, pretending she had been joking, but Alison's stare stayed on her. _Why can't I keep my big fat mouth SHUT for once?_

"Well, I was really drunk," Ali said slowly, "So the room's still sort of spinning. But you're right. Getting someone killed really _does_ top that."

"Almost," Jubilee mumbled. "Almost killed."

"_Almost_ killed," Alison echoed. "Oh, well, _that's_ different then."

The music for Jubilee's routine finished. The next track on Alison's Crystals CD came on; it was slow and macabre, morose violins, miserable Fifties girls. The song grated in Jubilee's ears; she wished Alison would turn the CD player off. "I don't like this one as much," Jubilee said weakly. "Same band?"

Alison folded her arms. She didn't answer Jubilee and she didn't move. Jubilee dropped her gaze nervously. Generally, she liked Ali's look – baggy black sweatpants and barely-there black camisoles, leather and spikes, ragged blond hair. Alison's punk inclinations were adorable, usually -- just because Alison herself was so chipper and happy most of the time. But now the grim look Blaire was sending Jubilee seemed threatening.

Studded cuffs glinted as Alison crossed her arms. "Jubes," she said – and her voice wasn't threatening at all, but very soft and unsure -- "You weren't joking, were you?"

Jubilee picked at the mat. "Don't be mad," she said in a very small voice.

"I'm not mad." Jubilee met Ali's eyes and knew she was telling the truth; Alison just looked concerned. That was even worse; Jubilee tried not to squirm with guilt. "Look," Alison said, "This is probably none of my business. Tell me if I'm out of line. But… you live here, right? In this building, where we meet?"

"Um, kind of," Jubilee said carefully. "I… my rooms are in here, yeah. It's a private school."

"Okay," Alison said, nodding. "Do your parents know you're here?"

"They're dead," Jubilee said. "I'm – I'm a ward of the state. This is an orphanage."

Alison glanced out the gym window, raising her eyebrows. "An orphanage?"

"Well, you know, not an orphanage," Jubilee prattled on, with a desperate smile. "That sounds sort of Little Orphan Annie, doesn't it? It's, like, a children's center, like in _White Oleander_, only, you know, without Patrick Fugit. For kids, um, kids who'll come into pretty big inheritances."

"A children's center," Alison echoed. She sounded thoroughly unconvinced.

"Yeah," Jubilee said, with a weak, last-ditch stubbornness that convinced neither woman.

"Look, Jubilee," Alison said again – though Jubilee still didn't know _what _she was supposed to look at – "I guess you could be telling the truth. Anything could be true, I don't know. But just let me tell you something." Ali's voice was low but adamant. "You're the most grown-up 'child' I know. You don't look like a sixteen-year-old. You don't act like a sixteen-year-old. Sometimes I feel like you could be my age. Bubblegum excluded."

"Oh, yeah, well, my birthday's in three weeks," Jubilee provided. "I'm going to have a really enormous party. Do you want to come?"

"You're not really a kid at all, I guess," Alison continued, ignoring Jubilee's hastily formulated invitations, "So I'm just gonna trust that you know what you're doing… Whatever it is. But, Jubilee, look."

"Look at what?" Jubilee snapped. Alison herself was staring at the blue mats now, as embarrassed as Jubilee was. "That's really annoying, the way you keep saying that."

"Look at _me_, because I'm worried about you," Alison ordered, snapped her gaze back up. "You've changed, Jubilee."

"Changed?" Jubilee repeated, bewildered. "Changed how?"

"Look, I could be wrong." Alison glanced out the window again. It was sunny out, which was deceptive, because Jubilee knew it was actually cold. "I haven't known you for a really long time, so maybe I just didn't see it before. But… you've got a harder edge. You don't really seem like the same girl. You're growing up a lot, Jubes."

"Well, thanks," said Jubilee, charmed.

Alison shook her head. "Growing up in three weeks isn't a good thing." She scuffed her combat-boot clad toe across the mats. "I don't wanna sound like someone's mom here, but if you've already seen more action than I have, hell, you're gonna be all used up by the time you're thirty."

Jubilee didn't know what to say to that.

"You refuse to touch my CD player or cell phone," Alison mused, fidgeting with a spiked bracelet. "You're always all covered with these _enormous_ bruises. And your hair – Jubes, did you burn off the ends on _purpose_?"

"No!" Jubilee said indignantly.

"But it _is_ burned, right?" Alison pressed. Jubilee dropped her gaze again to the mats. "Look," Blaire said, "I'm not trying to pry. But I just wanna ask -- so I can feel like I did the right thing – you know that guy who meets you after gymnastics?" 

"Yeah?"

Alison was beginning to blush. "He's not… taking advantage… of you somehow?"

"What?" Jubilee snorted with laughter. She covered her mouth, caught completely off guard. "Gambit? Hell no! Not for lack of trying on my part, I mean, but – no, god, Alison, nothing like that. He's just a friend."

"I'm just trying to _understand_," Alison said, shaking her head. There was another long, awkward silence. "I'm not gonna give you grief about this," Alison said, "But I care about you and I'm worried."

"_Look,_ Alison." Jubilee suggested, much amused. "Everything's fine. Seriously." She hesitated, then added, "I was exaggerating about what happened last night. No one really got almost killed, I was joking. Don't worry about it."

Blaire bit her lip. "You sure?"

"Totally," Jubilee insisted. She pushed herself to her feet, trying to ignore her fraying patience. Alison meant well. "I'm really sorry, Ali, I didn't mean to worry you. Nothing's going on, everything's cool. I mean, I can see how it'd look that way to you, but I'm really, really fine. I'm having fun."

"Having fun is a pretty different thing from being fine, in my experience," Alison said wryly. "And believe me, I've had a lot of practice in that area."

Jubilee groaned, rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay, I get it, you're advice lady, I'll come to you if I need anything, ever, for any reason. Now can we _please_ just do the song?"

Alison frowned. "Jubilee – "

"Can we _please_ just do the song?" Jubilee snapped again, more loudly, speaking right over the other girl. "You're supposed to be my gymnastics coach, right? So let's do gymnastics, all right? I appreciate your concern, but I'm having a great time."

"I know it's none of my business – "

"Yeah," said Jubilee coldly, staring Alison dead-straight in the eye. "It's really not."

Utter silence.

Alison Blaire set her mouth in a thin line. "Fine," she said shortly. "Let's do the song." She cued up the music, and Jubilee stretched sinuously into each new pose and trick, trying to lose herself in the Crystal's charred-glass voices, hide behind the Wall of Sound. She could feel Alison's watching her. That was the way it was supposed to be, Alison was her coach. Yet it was different now, a different kind of watching, one that made Jubilee feel naked. The tutorial took forever to finish, and when Jubilee hugged Ali goodbye, neither girl was sorry to go.

000

"Would you like to take a guess," Emma Frost said coldly, "At how very lucky you are?"

"Well, sure," Rogue said obediently. "Should Ah factor in my whole life, or just the last couple a'days?" Gambit suppressed a chuckle. He'd been worried about the possibility of brain damage, but a night's rest had transformed Rogue, and her tongue was sharper than ever.

"You could have died," Emma retorted. "That was a fifteen-meter fall. Any other angle on your impact and you likely would have snapped your neck. I don't like to use the term, but it's a minor miracle."

"Kurt's prayin' must have paid off," Rogue said flippantly. Still, her expression was far from careless – she obviously realized how closely she'd brushed elbows with death. "Can you stop tellin' me what a naughty girl Ah've been and just tell me the damage?"

"I appreciate your dispensing with the pleasantries, as I hardly have the time," Emma agreed in a truly icy tone, shuffling through her papers.

"Speaking of your pleasant company," Remy put in, "Why are we bein' gifted with it now? Thought dis was Beast's office."

"Henry is making an emergency conference call to Mister Sinister," Emma replied, and Rogue flinched. "Oh, don't flatter yourself, Rogue, it's not all to do with you. Apparently Doctor Essex has received some rather interesting instructions from Washington. Your little pratfall is nothing more than an addendum."

"Well, good," Rogue said, looking a little confused. Gambit wasn't convinced that she'd have known what "addendum" meant even prior to bashing her head open.

"Good for you, perhaps," Emma said, taking a sip of her coffee. The half-full pot still sat on a hot plate, but she hadn't offered Gambit or Rogue a cup. "Beast neglected to inform me that Sinister would be absent this week, so I've risked my cover at Xavier's and come out here for nothing. Rather than doing _pro bono_ grunt work, I could be enjoying myself at the mansion. It was supposed to be my day off."

"Rogue's real sorry dat she busted herself up and made you take a break from your margaritas," Gambit said sarcastically. "We want dis done as much as you do, so how 'bout you just tell us de damage?"

"The damage is relatively minor," Emma said.

"Oh, good," Rogue breathed. "Ah was afraid Ah wouldn't be up and about before Sinister got back."

"I said _relatively_," Frost said, unsympathetically. "Put that term in perspective against your accident, Rogue dear. The damage will certainly leave you unfit for combat for a week. Possibly two."

"Two weeks?" Rogue said, aghast. "Come on. Ah'm acting captain in the most important squad of the special forces of the greatest country in the world!"

"God bless America," Remy provided patriotically.

Rogue spared him a roll of her eyes, then asked Emma anxiously, "You can't do somethin' to… help the healin' process along?"

"Beast's already utilizing every medical miracle in his rather considerable bag of tricks," Emma said sharply. "Your recovery time would be considerably longer if you were a civilian."

"This is awful," Rogue groaned.

"I wouldn't be complaining," said Doctor Frost casually, sipping at her coffee again. "You've broken your tibia in three places, you know, and I hardly need mention you've sustained a concussion." She removed an X-ray from her bag and placed it up against the window of Beast's office; Rogue bit her lip, and even Gambit flinched. "What are you looking so pained about, Remy?" Emma asked him, sounding much amused. "That's nothing, compared to how your ribs looked when they hauled you in here. And you had a concussion too, you know."

Gambit shifted. His ribs did still bother him a little. "Yeah," he said. "Been a good month for those."

"It's okay about my leg," Rogue carried on bravely, trying to smile through her obvious anxiety. "Ah can fly, after all. Ah'll just -- do that 'til Ah heal up."

"I'm afraid you won't," Emma snapped. "No flying. The impact of landing alone would cause torque damage to your shin and besides, we don't know what areas of your brain flight puts stress on, it could be telekinetic. You're not flying about everywhere with a brain injury. You'll just have to suffer along on a pair of crutches like a normal person." She pulled Rogue's X-rays down from the window and slipped them back into her white patent briefcase. "A more pertinent question, given that you are capable of flight, is however did you even manage to _fall_? Why didn't you stop yourself?"

"Hit my head on the edge of the catwalk," Rogue replied, picking at a stray thread on the blanket. "My memory's… kinda blurry from there."

"Hmm," Emma said, sending a sharp look at Gambit. "Well, Remy, you appear to have fulfilled your promise to Sinister. You're certainly challenging his operatives. My congratulations. One can only hope you'll manage to leave them all alive, in your enthusiasm."

Gambit rose to his feet abruptly. "I don't have to stand around and take dis," he said coolly. "Ain't like I got nothin' else to do. _Chere_, I'll send Kurt down. Emma, it's been… as much a pleasure as always." He let himself out, fighting the urge to close Rogue's door with much more force than necessary. Things were derailing fast, Gambit thought. The sooner he could talk to Jubilee, the better.

Handing Rogue a pair of crutches, Frost looked rather amused. "Was it something I said?" she inquired.

_A/N: Now, why on earth is fanfictiondotnet duplicating the first line of every chapter? I hope they'll iron that out soon._

_To the person who asked what "_allumeuse_" meant, actually, it's not very flattering at all! It's one of those words that's rather difficult to translate. Most French-English dictionaries will tell you it means "tease", but this is antiquated now and much divorced from its modern slang connotations. Gambit was basically just making a pointed comment about the appropriateness of Jubilee's being gone so long with Pyro. He's really not very happy with her right now._

_The second track on Dazzler's CD is "He Hit Me (And It Felt Like A Kiss)". Yes, this is (horrifyingly) a real song, and it was written by Carole King (look at me trotting out my varied knowledge from Rock And Roll History)._

_Writing "Playing With Fire" was hard, I'd been away so long. This chapter was much more comfortable._


	18. The Glass Menagerie

"Come in

Jubilee shifted back and forth in front of the door. She raised her hand. She dropped it again.

_I'm going to count to three. And then I'm going to knock. One, two… three. …Okay. No, really, this time. One, two, three …Holy god. _It was like trying to crawl out of a comfortable bed in the morning. Jubilee shifted again, crossing her arms over her stomach, and considered beating a hasty retreat and subsequently pretending she'd never even attempted this. Then she decided _that_ was just plain pathetic, and raised her hand and knocked, without giving herself time to think.

"Come on in," Rogue's voice invited promptly. Jubilee squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and pushed through the door.

Rogue's apartment was full of living things. It struck Jubilee as a bit excessive. A blue clay jug sat on the wooden table, stuffed with blooming sunflowers; beside the makeshift vase was a cut-glass bowl full of ripe peaches, and apples so green just _looking_ at them was sour. Aloe vera proliferated in a wicker basket suspended above Rogue's bed, and a goldfish in the clear water of a perfectly round bowl eyed Jubilee with wide-eyed, sanctimonious disapproval. Rogue's unscreened bay window was open; long linen curtains shivered in the August breeze, so that birds and bugs could (and, Jubilee thought, probably did) fly right in. Jubilee also noted, bemused, that a poster of the Eiffel Tower was push-pinned alongside a silk Confederate flag to the cookie-cutter columbine flowers of Rogue's wallpaper. There was a TV, but its screen was all but obscured by the dangling fronds of a spider plant; only the bookshelf – mahogany, enormous, and stuffed to the brim – was kept clear.

Rogue herself was curled on her violently green-and-orange quilt, reading a hardcovered something. Her left leg was in a cast up to the knee, and a pair of crutches leaned against the headboard of the bed. She peered at Jubilee over the top of the book, closed the volume, and set it on pillow beside her. "Well, hey," Rogue said cautiously, and let Jubilee initiate the conversation.

"Hey." Jubilee had to take a second to modulate her voice. "Whatcha reading?" Rogue held up the book wordlessly. _Oliver Twist_. "Ugh," said Jubilee.

"You read it?" Rogue said curiously, looking at the cover – a cloying picture of an angelic Victorian boy with blonde ringlets and eyelashes.

"Yup," said Jubilee. "Had to. It was assigned during my freshman year. It makes me cry a little that I'm never gonna get that hour of my life back."

Rogue's eyes popped slightly. "You read _Oliver Twist_ in an hour?"

"No," Jubilee said. "After an hour, I realized how much it sucked and I went shopping."

"Oh," murmured Rogue, "That's too bad." She glanced at the cover again. "Ah kind of like it," she said. "Don't hardly know what half the words mean, but what Ah can follow, Ah'm enjoyin'."

"I guess you're missing the half of the words that glorify domestic abuse, racism and an oppressive class structure," Jubilee blurted impulsively, then wished she hadn't – partly because she didn't want to offend Rogue, but mostly because she sounded like a _total_ geek.

Rogue raised her eyebrows and set _Oliver Twist_ down again. "Well," she said, in a tone so measured Jubilee knew she was picking her words carefully, "Ah don't really read much, so Ah guess Ah wouldn't know. What can Ah do you for, sugar?"

Jubilee shifted her weight in the doorframe, biting her lip. This conversation had not achieved the start she'd hoped for. She hoped it wasn't an omen. "Um," she said, just as carefully, "I wanted, you know. To apologize."

Rogue's eyebrows lifted. "For what, darlin'?"

"For what happened," Jubilee replied, speaking straight to her feet. She could _feel_ that fucking goldfish staring at her. "Last night. I acted like an amateur and you got hurt. And I'm really sorry, and I just thought, you know, that I should tell you that."

Rogue watched her for a second, vulpine eyes narrowed. Then she asked abruptly, "Did Gambit put you up to this?"

"What?" said Jubilee sharply, offended. "No. You think I don't have the guts to apologize for myself?"

"It ain't that," Rogue said, half-smiling, "It's just he _did_ make Pyro apologize. It was practically a prepared statement. Ah think Gambit must've threatened him with bodily harm, St. John looked nervous as a cat in a room full of rockin' chairs." Jubilee giggled. "Besides," Rogue added quietly, smile fading, "Us two did get off to kind of a rough start."

"Yeah," said Jubilee. "Well, that's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about." She dragged her foot in its sparkly ballet flat across the parquet floor. "You know, um, thus far, you've knocked me out really good and I've gotten you thrown off a roof, so do you want to count us as even?"

"Huh?"

"I just don't really want to go on skittering out of the way every time I see you," Jubilee explained, shoving her hands in her pockets and staring again at the herringbone of the hardwood. "I mean, I don't know if you skitter much yourself, but it's totally an awkward verb. I'd much rather we could, you know, kind of start over."

Rogue's expression was perplexed. "You wanna take a step in here, sugar, and close my door?" Jubilee did so. "Ah don't blame you or Pyro for my busted-up leg," Rogue continued seriously, sitting up straight. "That's what Ah told Gambit. What happened was 'cause of my own carelessness."

"Maybe," said Jubilee, "I still feel super-guilty."

"Well, you don't have to," Rogue said. "But Ah mean, if it makes you feel better, sure. Apology accepted, sugar. Ah weren't ever riled up."

"Great," said Jubilee. She smiled very winningly. "Come shopping with me."

Rogue blinked. "What?"

"Come shopping with me," Jubilee repeated brightly. She leaned against the wall, tracing the little columbine flowers with her fingernail. "I'm going shopping. You should come."

Rogue raised an eyebrow. "You cleared this with Doctor McCoy? He might not -- "

"'Course I have," Jubilee assured her. "He said it was fine. Come on, Rogue, we can totally hang out."

Rogue carefully eased herself into a sitting position on the side of the bed. "Ah don't know," she began.

"What else are you going to be doing?" Jubilee needled her. "You're totally out of commission. Don't sit around reading Regency propaganda with a goldfish for company."

"Ah'll thank you to leave Rhett out of this. An' _Oliver Twist_ is Victorian." Rogue rolled her eyes at Jubilee's astonished look. "Yes, Ah have a fourth-grade education, sugar, try not to have a stroke. Anyway, Ah appreciate the invitation, but Ah think Ah better n – "

Jubilee cleared her throat very loudly and made a noise that sounded suspiciously like "_Loner_!"

Rogue snapped her head up, glaring, and for a second, Jubilee thought she had gone too far; the air crackled. Then Rogue's clear pale face relaxed. She even laughed a little. "Well, all right, you don't have to go name-callin'," she said. "Just give me half a second to finish my chapter. You may be too good for all this – " she waved the book casually at Jubilee – "But if poor Nance don't come through okay, Ah think Ah'm gonna cry."

"That's fine," Jubilee said. "I've got an appointment with Doctor McCoy, anyway. I'll see you in a bit."

"Yeah," Rogue said, with an odd sort of cautious friendliness, "See you in a bit."

Jubilee waved goodbye and stepped out of Rogue's room, shutting the door behind her. She was a little amazed at how smoothly the process had gone; she'd spent eons plotting it out, but somehow hadn't expected the plan to work. Feeling quite self-satisfied, Jubilee took two steps towards the elevator. Then she was suddenly hit by a wave of nausea so profound that she grabbed the wall for balance, slid down to a sitting position, and cradled her head between her knees, trying not to throw up. When the feeling passed and Jubilee looked up, Vertigo was standing over her, arms crossed, glaring knives, swords and daggers at the girl. There was a bouquet of blue tulips in her hand.

"What the hell was that for?" Jubilee snapped, putting two and two together.

"What were you doing to poor Rogue," Vertigo said, offering an equally polite greeting to Jubilee, "Finishing her off?"

Jubilee slid back to her feet. Vertigo's eyes unfocussed again, and Jubilee felt that seasick feeling return; immediately she raised a hand and bright white lights exploded in front of Vertigo's wide, vague pupils.

"_Ow,"_ Vertigo whined, clapping her free hand over her eyes.

"Well, _don't, _then," Jubilee snapped, and the stomach pain did not come back. "And _poor Rogue_ is fine. What's your problem?"

"You're my problem," Vertigo retorted, loose emerald curls bouncing as she cocked her head to the side.

"What?"

"What's on your schedule today, '_mon Jewel'_?" Vertigo continued recklessly. "Get someone thrown off a catwalk? Facilitate Kurt's pirate fetish? Oh, wait, no." She snapped her fingers in the air theatrically. Jubilee was tempted to provide a lightbulb above her head. "Let me guess. You're gonna go throw yourself at Gambit. Jailbait."

Jubilee felt as though she had been slapped. Though Vertigo wasn't using her powers, it was a long second before Jubilee could speak. "What is this, all of a sudden?" she asked, trying not to let her lower lip tremble.

Vertigo regarded her through snake eyes, and the silence stretched and squeaked, a long note on a violin. Then she blurted, "Quit scamming in on Pyro."

"_What_?" Jubilee said, mystified.

Vertigo had blushed so deeply her cheeks were nearly violet. "You heard me." Her voice was shaking. "Just steer clear of him. Kurt's already practically licking your boots, so there's no need to get greedy. And – " she crossed her arms across her chest -- "And I was here before you and I – I saw him first, so back off!"

Jubilee could feel her eyebrows lifting so high, she was afraid they'd hit her hairline. Vertigo couldn't be serious. The other girl might be a year or so younger, but still, this was just _too_ immature. "You… seriously think I'm cockblocking Pyro?"

"Should I not?" Vertigo sniffed, eyes still slitted.

"Vertigo," Jubilee said in a measured voice, trying to be patient, "Imagine the biggest number you can. Now multiply that number by ten thousand. That's how much I _don't_ want to even share _breathing room_ with Pyro right now. If you want him, you can _have_ him."

"_Right now_," Vertigo echoed, not convinced.

"Do I really have to prove this to you?" Jubilee said, rolling her eyes. "Look, his accent is annoying. I'm sorry, but it is. He's a total skeeze. He burned off like half of my hair. His fashion sense – "

"Shut _up_." Vertigo interrupted. "Who do you think you _are_?"

"Vertie – "

"Don't you dare call me that!"

"Dom and John call you that!"

"They're my _friends_," Vertigo snapped. "You're not my friend. You're not even really a member of this team."

"Hey," Jubilee retorted, stung, "Wait just an effing second. If you don't like me, whatever, but don't say I'm not – I train with you, don't I? I eat here, I sleep here, I – "

"You _aren't_," Vertigo repeated passionately, cheeks flaming. Jubilee tried to interrupt, but Vertigo held up her hand. "Dom doesn't think so either. He _told_ me so. You just waltz in here, thinking everyone loves you and you can do whatever you want. Come _on_." Vertigo snorted. "Could you _be_ any more _naïve_? You've never even been on a mission. You don't even have dog tags. All you have is a VISA, and that's just because Beast thinks you're so _fucking_ adorable."

"I am pulling my weight here," Jubilee whispered, a lump in her throat, "So you can just go and shut right up."

"No one likes you. No one even _trusts_ you. Why do you think you haven't been assigned to any missions?"

"No missions have _been _assigned to our team," Jubilee said. "Or I would have heard."

Vertigo shook her impossibly pretty head. "Um, _newsflash_. We do a tonne of black-ops. Dom and I ran one last _week_. Doctor McCoy isn't even _telling_ you about them. Because you came straight from the X-Men. I don't even know why you're _here_. You're a liability and your powers _suck_."

"Shut _up_!"

"_You_ shut up!"

They _both_ shut up, and stared at each other in the helpless, hateful, hurt way only teenage girls can. Jubilee was so upset she was sickened, yet it was too obvious Vertigo was also hurt. In fact, her eyes were bloodshot and pink; Jubilee suspected she had been crying.

"Whatever," Vertigo snapped finally, breaking the silence. She brandished her tulips rather violently at Jubilee. "I don't even want to waste my time talking to you. _I_ was on my way to see Rogue because _I_ didn't almost kill her. Don't you forget." She turned away. "You may have everyone else blinded with how cute you think you are, but I know what you're _really_ like."

Jubilee watched her go – frustrated, speechless, and obsessively thinking, _Now, what the hell was _that_ supposed to mean?_

The fresh memory of the fight rankled while Jubilee took the elevator down to Beast's lab, got off, and greeted the doctor. She kept turning the bickering over and over in her mind until, in the middle of Beast's (painless) checkup, she blurted out, "You do trust me, right?"

Beast had been checking the reflexes in her knee. "I'm sorry?" he said, setting the little hammer down.

"I was talking to Vertigo," Jubilee said tonelessly. "She said the Brotherhood's supposed to go on a whole bunch of missions and that I wasn't invited on any of them. And she said that everyone else has dog tags, and I don't. And she said that my powers are useless and…" Jubilee trailed off when she noticed the look Beast was giving her. "What?"

The expression on Beast's face was something along the lines of _lord-give-me-strength_. He sighed, regarding Jubilee, then shook his head. "I might have known this would happen. To answer your questions in order, yes, the Brotherhood is running missions without you. Sinister suggested you be given some time to adjust to the routine here. My stars and garters, it certainly has nothing to do with whether you're _trusted_ or not."

"Is Gambit running them too?"

"No," Beast said, "And if you didn't know about them, he may not either, though I can't be sure. Frankly, I can't imagine why the agents in question wouldn't just _tell_ both of you; it was never meant to be a secret. Secondly, your dog tags are being cut as we speak, and I assure you they will be just as shiny as Vertigo's. Thirdly, your mutation is demonstrably _not_ useless. It has rather more potential than Doctor Essex or I ever dreamed."

"But Vertigo – "

"_Who has not seen how women bully women_?" Beast quoted. "William Thackeray. Miss Lee, the Brotherhood operatives are suffering from an unsettling, albeit temporary, revision to their roster. While Rogue's injury is nobody's fault, it is human nature to look for someone to blame. If Vertigo has singled you out as a scapegoat, that's most unfortunate. I'll speak with her."

"You don't have to," Jubilee said. She hopped off Beast's examining table, feeling barely reassured.

"If you require further proof of your usefulness," Beast added, with a half-smile, "I can provide it. I spoke with Mister Sinister only yesterday. He informed me that he's preparing a special assignment for you."

"Seriously?" Jubilee enthused, and smiled in spite of herself. "Just for me?"

"As I understand it."

"Cool!" Jubilee couldn't help but feel rather smug. "What do I get to do?"

"The details weren't made clear to me," Beast replied. He was writing something on a paper in Jubilee's file and only half paying attention. "The implication made was that it would require the use of your diplomatic skills, but otherwise, I'm in the dark. Presumably, Sinister will explain it to you when he returns."

"Mua," Jubilee mock-cackled, much heartened.

"Mua indeed," Henry McCoy agreed gravely. "I'm essentially finished here, Miss Lee, so you're free to go. Unless you've any further questions."

"I do, actually," Jubilee said. "You remember when Rogue… you remember when I first got here? I was wearing this jacket. It was big and yellow and hideous. You know the one?"

"I think I recall something along those lines," Beast said.

"Yeah," said Jubilee. "Could I get that back? I don't know what happened to it."

Beast paused. "Are you not in a position to purchase yourself a new coat?"

"I guess I could, yeah," Jubilee said, surprised, "But I'd really like to have that particular one back. It was a gift."

Doctor McCoy hesitated, then he said carefully, "I don't really think that's necessary."

"What?" Jubilee said. "What's the problem? It's just a coat."

"A continuing sentimental attachment to artifacts remaining from your previous life is not the most healthy method of integration in your situation," Beast said firmly.

"Yeah, and Emma Frost _totally_ isn't an artifact remaining from my previous life," Jubilee said snidely, rather annoyed. "She totally pissed me off _there_, and she totally pisses me off _here_, but have I said anything? No."

"Doctor Frost's services are extremely valuable to the Brotherhood," Doctor McCoy replied firmly. "A 'big yellow hideous' jacket presents itself as something which is somewhat more expendable."

"But – "

"_Jubilation_." Beast said, in a tone so ominous that it was clear the conversation was over.

"But – " Then, looking, at him, it suddenly occurred to Jubilee that Beast was much larger than her, and much stronger, and that maybe she shouldn't piss him off. "Okay," Jubilee said slowly. "Fine."

McCoy's expression was instantly mild and peaceable again, as though they had been discussing the weather. "I'm glad that's settled. Was there anything else?"

"Yeah," said Jubilee, and despite the uncomfortable moment, she found herself smiling mischievously in anticipation. She took a deep breath. "Doctor McCoooooy?"

"Oh, dear," Beast said immediately, wrinkling his furred brow. "No good can come of any exchange initiated in this worrying fashion. In future, Miss Lee, my surname only has _two_ syllables."

"I have a question," Jubilee persistently singsonged, grinning.

"Yes?" McCoy said, chuckling and folding his arms.

"Can I go shopping?"

"What?"

"Can I go shopping?" Jubilee repeated.

Beast blinked at her. "Well, yes, of course you can. You have governmental credit and an internet connection. I'd imagine you could buy anything you want."

"No," Jubilee said, "Not pathetic hermit shopping. I mean, like, real shopping. At a mall. There must be some good malls around here."

Beast considered. "I don't know if that's a good idea," he said finally.

"Please?" Jubilee begged, suddenly worried that this aspect of the conversation, too, was destined to go the way of Wolverine's yellow coat. "It's really important."

"_What is a fashion? A form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months_," Beast quoted. "Oscar Wilde. I don't think a shopping excursion is that crucial to your health."

"Well, um, it was actually Rogue's idea," Jubilee volunteered. "She really wants to go shopping, and she asked me to come. Um, so we could get to know each other."

Beast took off his glasses and polished them on a corner of his lab coat. "Really?"

"Totally. Doctor McCoy," Jubilee said, "This is kind of important to me. Rogue and I haven't gotten along super-well. I'd like to kind of patch that up."

"Well…" Beast frowned. "All right. As long as Rogue goes with you."

"YAY," Jubilee sang, in such exaggerated tones that Beast winced, then laughed. She quickly threw her arms around his neck, then skipped away. "Thank-you-Doctor-McCoy!"

"Fools and teenagers rush in where angels fear to tread," Beast replied, resigned. "Would you please get me a package of erasers while you're out?"

"I will _totally_ get you a _mountain_ of erasers," Jubilee promised.

"Well, I don't really need a _mountain_, just the one will do," Doctor McCoy replied, smiling. "Don't be gone too long."

"I won't," Jubilee agreed, and skipped out the door.

000

"Twenty dollars?" Rogue demanded incredulously, flipping over a price tag as though it would magically have rewritten itself at her consternation. "For an undershirt been attacked with a highlighter?" 

"It's all sweatshop-free!" Jubilee snapped, snatching the offending camisole from Rogue's unsympathetic arms. "It's not supposed to look fancy. It's good for your karma."

"If it's so good for your karma, what are they poutin' about?" Rogue asked, glancing up at a wall panel which depicted several glowering, emaciated young women in cotton leotards. She grinned. "'Sides the fact someone made them pose in their panties."

"You are so embarrassing," Jubilee groaned. "Come on, gimp. If you hate it so much we'll shop somewhere else."

Rogue cheerfully hopped along on her crutches. "American Apparel," she mused. "Ah should've known by the name. Call yourself something' as pretentious as 'apparel' and you're just askin' for trouble."

"Whatever," said Jubilee. "Want to go to Banana Republic?"

"Weren't you just saying how great it is to be sweatshop-free?"

Jubilee groaned. "It isn't a _real_ banana republic. That's just what the store's called."

"Isn't that kind of offensive?" Rogue said, Jubilee made an exaggerated groaning noise and entered the store; Rogue cheerfully followed. They browsed in silence until Jubilee heard a sharp 'clank'. She turned. Rogue had picked up a plastic bangle, stared at the price tag, gasped and dropped the bracelet. A teenage salesgirl also glanced up, snapping her gum, as it banged against the ground. "Sorry," Rogue giggled, trying to hook the bangle with one crutch as Jubilee watched.

"Don't!" the salesgirl snapped. "I'll get it, OK?" she scooped up the bangle and placed it protectively back on the rack.

"Ah really am sorry," Rogue repeated, trying to restrain her laughter. Jubilee couldn't help but feel pleased; she'd never seen Rogue smile so genuinely. "Didn't mean to break your… costume jewelry." Rogue paused, then added mischievously, "Can Ah ask you a question, sugar?"

The salesgirl glared and snapped her gum.

"Don't you think all this stuff is just a little overpriced?" Rogue said earnestly, leaning in. "That bracelet was pretty an' all, but forty dollars?"

"This is Banana Republic," the girl informed Rogue.

"Yeah, Ah saw the sign when Ah came in," Rogue shrugged, smiling. She turned away. "Guess Ah just don't usually shop in these kinds of places."

The salesgirl dragged her beady eyes up and down Rogue's body, her overplucked eyebrows rising as she took in long leather gloves, oversized scarf, layers and layers of black covering every inch of skin. "Yeah," she said with a slight, catty smile. "I can see that." Rogue's mouth dropped open a little bit, and her green eyes widened; she bit her lip, blushing furiously. "We aren't really a Bible Belt kind of store," the girl explained, her face crinkling under its mask of makeup. "Why don't you try Target?"

"Oh no you didn't," Jubilee blurted, so pissed off she could barely think.

"Ah should go," Rogue mumbled, and quickly turned on her crutches to slink away.

"No, you shouldn't," Jubilee snapped, grabbing Rogue's crutch and stopping her. Then she rounded on the sales clerk, who was smacking on her gum, looking self-satisfied. "Listen, you skanky shopgirl. This girl could knock you dead with her little finger, so show her some respect. And if that doesn't get through to you --" Jubilee flipped her hair off her shoulder -- "Rogue, show her your credit card."

"Ah really don't – "

Jubilee flipped open her own wallet and brandished her platinum VISA like a weapon. "I don't know if you can see through all that mascara," she told the salesgirl sweetly, "But _this_ little logo right _here_ is governmental. That means I could spend more money in one day than you make in a month, anywhere I want. And guess what? I will no longer be spending it here. Have fun explaining that to your supervisor once I flip her an email. Come on, Rogue." Jubilee turned her back on the salesgirl, who was now sputtering and pale, grasped Rogue by the elbow, and propelled her out the doors of Banana Republic.

Rogue looked pale. "You shouldn't have done that, Jubilee."

"Why not?"

"People were staring!"

"So what?" Jubilee laughed. "Did you see the look on her face?"

"She looked humiliated."

"She deserved it." Jubilee lounged against the escalator railing, smiling at Rogue's anxiousness. "You're funny, Rogue."

Rogue glanced up defensively, all angular cheekbones and long thin eyes. "Why's that?'

"I've seen you break a bone with barely a whimper," Jubilee mused, "Command a SWAT team, outtalk Gambit. And you're cowed by the staff at the Banana Republic."

Rogue shrugged. "She was just mean and nasty. Caught me off guard."

"Mean and nasty catches you off guard?" snorted Jubilee. "Sheltered life, much? Oh – here. Let's go in here."

Rogue didn't look enthusiastic about the prospect. "What do they sell here?" She asked, peering in the neon-framed window. "Ah don't see any clothes."

"That's because it's a hair salon, duh," Jubilee said, rolling her eyes. "Want to dye your hair?"

"Not really," said Rogue.

"You know, I think guys are probably more attracted to a girl who isn't going prematurely grey," Jubilee teased.

"Well, that doesn't matter much for me, does it?" snapped Rogue, which resulted in a rather awkward pause.

"Well– " Jubilee said, breaking the silence with a tense little laugh, "I need a hair cut, anyway, if you're willing to wait. It may be unique, but singed ends just aren't a good look for me."

Rogue not only agreed to wait for Jubilee, but trotted along in her wake, watching the whole process curiously. Jubilee took a free chair; her stylist was a young girl about Rogue's age, who introduced herself in a frighteningly chipper voice as Tabitha. Tabitha seemed extremely excited by the prospect of deflowering Jubilee's virgin hair. Even with the ends burnt off, it reached nearly to Jubilee's waist. While Tabitha seemed to realize Jubilee's hair was burnt – she examined the ends with an odd expression and screwed-up eyes – she had evidently decided she wasn't paid enough to care. "What are you thinking?" she asked Jubilee, running a wide-toothed comb through her smooth black locks.

"Bobs are really enormous right now," Jubilee said, "Right?"

"That would look great on you," Tabitha grinned. She grabbed her scissors. "I'm thinking maybe the Rihanna look?"

"What do you think, Rogue?" Jubilee said over her shoulder.

Rogue glanced up from the magazine she was leafing through. "Huh?"

"Rihanna bob?"

"Rihanna?" said Rogue. She shrugged and flipped a glossy page. "Isn't she that umbrella girl?"

Jubilee groaned and turned back to Tabitha. "The umbrella girl look. Sign me up." She stoically listened to the scissors clicking shut without so much as a whimper. In retrospect, her decision had been rather impulsive, but it was probably a good idea.

"Done," Tabitha announced, half an hour later, and with a dramatic flourish turned Jubilee to face the mirror. Jubilation barely recognized herself. She'd never had short hair; her head was suddenly so _light. _The back of her neck felt _naked_. Still, the angular bob made her eyes appear larger and brought out her high cheekbones. Jubilee wondered what Gambit would think.

"It looks good," Rogue said.

"For umbrella girl hair," Tabitha added, and all three women laughed.

Jubilee and Rogue casually poked in and out of a few more shops, not staying anywhere long. "Let's stop and grab a coffee," Jubilee suggested, when she noticed Rogue was limping more than usual. She quickly steered them towards the food court. "You grab us a table. I'll handle the excessive calories."

Rogue chuckled and took a seat in a Formica booth, easing herself off her crutches. "Ain't gonna argue, sugar."

Jubilee cheerfully hopped towards Starbucks, ordered two excessively chocolaty frappechinos, and started back towards the booth, where Rogue was piously pulling up her gloves. She glanced backwards for no reason she could name and then froze. At a cold metal table, in that sea of strangers, Jubilee could see a beautiful black woman with white hair. For a second she couldn't recall why the woman looked so familiar. Then she realized, _Storm, _and a shiver went right down her spine. Jubilee glanced at Rogue to see if she'd noticed anything, but the older girl was staring rather absently off into space, and Jubilee quickly darted behind a pillar. She couldn't take her wide eyes off Storm, whose memory had started to seem rather like something out of a fairy tale, out of another of her nine cat lives.

_Run. _Thought Jubilee. _Just run. Now. Before Rogue can stop you._ But she felt frozen, glued to the spot, as though she was dreaming. Storm was with another woman Jubilee couldn't place; a pretty redhead holding hands with a lantern-jawed man in wraparound sunglasses. Their faces were grave; Jubilee strained to catch a fragment of the conversation, but it was difficult. She only barely knew Storm's voice, and she had to wheedle it out from between the threads of other conversations. She caught only bits and pieces, feeling like a miner striking gold each time.

"—_could be anywhere. Professor Xavier's trying – "_

" -- So I talked to him and he was all like whatever! -- "

"He's a total yuppie, did you see those – "

"—_When Doctor Frost talked to her. You have to be patient. Jubilee's – "_

" – Can't believe you bought those when they have exactly the same one at – "

" – _Wolverine just hasn't been himself."_

"An' what exactly are _you_ gawkin' at?" 

"Rogue," Jubilee blurted, whirling. Rogue had hobbled over on her crutches, and she did not look impressed. "I told you to get us a booth!"

"Ah did. Ten minutes ago." Rogue peered over Jubilee's shoulder. "What are you looking – we're leaving." The second she saw Storm she grabbed Jubilee's shoulder, her grip ironclad. "Come on. Let's go."

"Wait a sec!" Jubilee begged, struggling. "Can't I just say hi to them?"

"Are you crazy?" Rogue inquired, pushing her further behind the pole.

"I heard them say he's worried about me." Jubilee protested, wriggling.

"Who?" 

"Wolverine." Jubilee pushed past Rogue, squirming until her shoulder came free. Rogue was rather freakishly strong, Jubilee thought peevishly. "Come on, just let me tell them I'm fine. God, I should have done it long before this, of _course _he's worried. I'm such a head case."

"Jubilee," Rogue said, and something in her tone had changed. Jubilee glanced backwards. Rogue, mouth set, had pulled off one glove and now ran her bare hand casually over her grey-streaked hair. The gesture was natural, but Jubilee could read the veiled threat clear as day. "We are leaving. Now."

"Okay," Jubilee said slowly, something turning over uneasily in her stomach. "Don't have a cow, everything's cool. Let's go."

Rogue hobbled to the parking lot, and Jubilee followed her. She only glanced back once to look at Storm, who was still chatting animatedly with the red-haired woman, hadn't noticed a thing. Rogue and Jubilee got into the governmental van, and both immediately complained about the radio station, and, eventually the awkward moment passed. Soon they were chatting and laughing about other things.

But the uneasiness in Jubilee's heart remained. _Why didn't I just run?_

_A/N: And so Jubilee acquires her infamous 90's-cartoon bob. Yeah, way more important things happened in this chapter, but whatever. Fashion first._


	19. Faux Pafs

As the Brotherhood's car loomed up on the property, Jubilee – sleepy and cat-eyed from the dying sunset-light – noticed that s

The Brotherhood car loomed up on the property. Jubilee, sleepy and cat-eyed in the dying sunlight, noticed that sunflowers had bloomed alongside the tulips and wild rose bordering the smooth black drive. _Indian summer, _Jubilee thought. The enormous maples lining the road were no longer green. Jubilee couldn't place the foliage -- she had never figured out exactly where the Brotherhood building was situated. The mall had been named for its sponsor – _Kelly Shopping_ – so that was no help. She would have to ask Beast precisely where they were, Jubilee thought. Then she remembered his reaction to her request for her coat. Okay, so maybe she wouldn't ask Beast. But she could ask Alison. Or, if Ali was still all pissed off at her for no reason, she could ask Gambit. Yeah, that was the trick.

"We're here, ladies," said their chauffeur, tipping his hat. He exited the car, opened Rogue's door to help her with her crutches.

Jubilee opened her own door and slithered off the baking black leather upholstery, clutching her bags. "I'll see you later, Rogue," she said to the older girl, who was impatiently waving off the driver's assistance, and walked to the front doors of the building, watching her reflection in the steel and glazed windows of the Brotherhood complex. The building's modest exterior, five or six stories, didn't even hint at its labyrinthine layers of basement floors, laboratories, holding cells. _It's like a haunted house,_ Jubilee thought, _Bigger on the inside than the outside. _She shivered. The thought was eerie. Jamming her security code impatiently onto the pad, the door beeped her admittance, and Jubilee pushed it open with her shoulder and slid inside. "Jubilation Lee," she told the security guard who looked up curiously, and he waved her through with a glance at her ID. The elevator took her quickly to her residence door.

Pleasant surprise – the door was blocked by a familiar, extremely toned body. "Hey, Gambit," said Jubilee with a smile, trying to sound casual, shifting her weight so all her bags sat on her jutting hip. "How you been?"

Gambit returned her welcoming smile only perfunctorily. He was manhandling an Ace of Spades with one hand, the other shoved in his pocket. "Still alive, to de surprise of everyone," he replied. "You busy, _chere_? Kind of wanted to talk to you."

"Um," winced Jubilee, maneuvering past him and unlocking her door, "… Yeah. I'm really, really sorry, Gambit, but yeah. Kurt and I are supposed to get together tonight and watch pirate movies. Maybe tomorrow?"

"Maybe tonight," Gambit said. He looked grim. "Do me a favor, _petite_. Tell Nightcrawler you gonna be late."

"O… kay," Jubilee acquiesced, nonplussed. "Can you just… give me half an hour to get my stuff put away? I don't mind if you wait. We can talk in here."

"Ten minutes max," Gambit replied, "An', no, we talk in my room." He pushed past Jubilee and stalked down the hallway, still flipping the Ace over between his fingers.

Jubilee watched him go, stepped into her room, and closed her door. She felt she ought to be excited – she _was _excited, those Paleolithic butterflies were back – but she was also surprised by Gambit's brusqueness. Yet Gambit wanted to talk to her, said it was urgent. These were Promising Signs. Hell, he even insisted on doing it In His Room! But his tone, the look in his eyes… well, there was no point worrying about it. Gambit would tell her what was up. In the meantime, Jubilee had important work to do. Throwing her bags haphazardly onto her bedspread, she riffled through their contents until she found new leggings and a high-belted tunic. Wriggling into the outfit, Jubilee hopped to her mirror and stared critically at her reflection. She looked damningly like a sixteen-year-old, but there wasn't much she could do about that. With a final determined, decisively liberal application of lip gloss, Jubilee slid her sparkly ballet flats onto her feet and set off down the hallway, completely forgetting to leave a note for Kurt.

Gambit lived a floor up from Jubilee and, though Jubilee had never actually been in his room, she remembered his residence number. 34 -- Gambit had joked that they assigned rooms based on age (a theory hampered by Jubilee's room number, 12). She raised her hand, heart really hammering now, and the Cajun appeared in the door almost before she had knocked. "Come on in, _chere_," he said, moving aside to let Jubilee pass. "Make yourself at home."

"Um, yeah," Jubilee said, stepping in. She squinted at Gambit's room. Despite Gambit's welcome, it would require a supreme amount of effort to feel at home amidst his blank white walls and army blankets. "Oh," she said, surprised, "You haven't decorated."

"'Course I haven't," Gambit said. "I ain't plannin' on stayin'."

"Well, I mean, we're here now. Might as well make the most of it," Jubilee said democratically. "I could lend you a catalogue, I decorated right away. You should totally see my room, I got these gorgeous little flower lights from IKEA."

A shadow flickered over Gambit's face. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, and closed and locked his door. "Can I get you anything, _chere_?" He asked.

"I'd love a glass of water," said Jubilee, whose mouth was quite dry.

Gambit turned and walked into the bathroom. "Been tryin' to get a hold of you," he called over his shoulder, as he turned a tap and water poured from the faucet. "Was like tryin' to find a needle in a haystack. Where you been?"

"Oh, you know," said Jubilee, cheerfully taking a seat on Gambit's bed. "Busy."

"All week?" Gambit called from the bathroom.

"Yeah," Jubilee laughed, playing with a stray thread on Gambit's blanket. "Gymnastics, training… it's been crazy. Oh, and Doctor McCoy briefed me for a mission! Plus I went shopping with Rogue today." There was a silence from Gambit's bathroom, though he'd shut the tap off. "Gambit?" Jubilee said lightly. "Your turn to talk."

"You went shoppin' wit' Rogue," Gambit echoed slowly, not turning around.

"Um, yeah," Jubilee affirmed, bemused. "Oh! And you'll never guess who I saw. Remember Storm – Ororo? From the X-Mansion? She was totally hanging out in the food court. Almost said hi to her."

"You went shopping wit' Rogue," Gambit repeated, "An' you saw Storm, an' you came back anyhow."

Jubilee squinted at Gambit's back. It wasn't that she wasn't enjoying the view, but she was a little confused. "Yup. Rogue says her leg's feeling loads better already. Anyway, that's just me. What have you been up to?"

Gambit paused, still facing the bathroom mirror, gripping the sides of the sink. He asked politely, "Who de hell are you?"

Jubilee felt the floor fall out from underneath her, and she still didn't have the slightest idea what he was talking about. She blinked. "What?"

"Gymnastics classes, watermarked VISAs, Christmas lights from IKEA," Gambit spat, whirling. His mouth twisted as he stormed back into the main room, setting Jubilee's water down – none too gently – on the bedside table. "You listenin' to yourself? You sound like a…"

"Teenage girl?" Jubilee suggested.

"Damn right."

"Well, newsflash," Jubilee said coolly, "Before the fleeing and the attacking and the kidnapping and the parental manslaughter, that's what I was. A teenage girl. Super-sorry if you're bitter that I'm enjoying it. I've got no right, my bad."

"You ain't a teenager," Gambit said.

"Sweet sixteen," Jubilee said, trying to smile. _Please, please, please, Gambit, let's just laugh this off. _"Seventeen pretty soon, you gonna get me a present?"

"I don't care how _old_ you are," Gambit snapped, not taking the bait, "You _ain't_ a teenage girl. You're playactin', thinkin' you can go back to dat."

"Who do you think you are?" Jubilee retorted, blushing, abruptly deciding not to make nice. Gambit's words were too much like what Alison had said. "Watch it, Gambit. You're out of line."

"_J'regret, chere_, but let's be honest here," Gambit scoffed. "Dese people – " He made a wide, extravagant gesture to the walls – "Are feedin' you a fantasy, and you lettin' dem do it. You tied to McCoy's apron strings."

"Don't go there, Gambit," Jubilee's fists were balled, crossed protectively over her stomach. "You don't have any idea what I'm going through, okay?"

"Tell me, den," Gambit invited, spreading his arms wide. "I'm waitin'. God knows, I don' wanna believe anyone could be so fickle."

"What was I supposed to _say_ to Storm?" Jubilee snapped. "_How_ was I supposed to say it? Rogue was right there. She had her gloves off and everything. Don't just make assumptions, okay? You weren't there. There was nothing I could do."

"Rogue," Gambit bit off, "Is on crutches. Ain't no way she could've stopped you, you made up your mind to go."

"All she'd have to do was touch me," Jubilee insisted desperately, "And I'm down!"

"An' how the hell would she get your body outta there without attracting attention?" Gambit asked patiently, eyebrows lifted. "Cause a bit of a scene, wouldn't she?"

"She – " Jubilee began, and had to give up. "Look, Gambit," she said instead, "She scared me. It was – it was instinct. I just didn't think."

"You sure didn't. I think your brain been turned off for a couple weeks now," Gambit snorted. Jubilee's mouth fell open uselessly as he barked a laugh. "I thought you were really somethin' when I met you, you know. Tough little alley cat, road trippin' wit' a big bad wolf. You reminded me of me." Gambit shook his head, snorted. "I was dead wrong. You ain't no kind of a stray."

"I haven't changed," Jubilee insisted. She felt sick. Gambit's tiny room was making her claustrophobic, giving her vertigo. The non-mutant kind. "I mean, yeah_, circumstances_ have changed, but you have to adapt, you know? I'm still Jubilee. I'm still _me._"

"An' de dog given up his freedom to sit by the warm fire is still a wolf, deep down," Gambit agreed, staring out his tiny barred window, into the cold night. "You forgotten dat McCoy tortured you? Dat Sinister was gonna kill me? You forgotten bein' in a cell? You forgotten how you _got_ here?"

"What about _you_?" Snapped Jubilee, who didn't feel this was fair. "I'm doing what I have to, to get by, okay? I'm keeping my head above the water here, so don't get pissed off at me for swimming. _I'm_ not the one who made a deal with the devil." She nodded, trying to convince herself. It half-worked. "I'm not the one who's training the _Brotherhood ninja task force_! I'm enjoying myself, sure, but you've done_ way_ worse than that. You have more explaining to do than me!"

"Yeah?" said Gambit, face blank and unreadable. His hands were shoved into his trench coat pockets. He leaned against the wall.

"Yeah," Jubilee carried on recklessly. "Nightcrawler told me you were workin' for these Brotherhood guys, since way back. I guess it's true, huh? You must be having a grand old time. This must be like your high school reunion or something." 

Gambit rounded on her. "Don' you dare talk," he said narrowly, "'Bout what you don't understand." He was mere feet away; his tone was ice-cold, eyes burning. He stared at Jubilee until she dropped her eyes to his threadbare blanket. "I worked for de Brotherhood? _J'accord, c'est vrai._ I was a soldier, _bien_. A real cartoon hero. But I split as soon as I could, soon as I realized what dey were really about. An' I never once come back."

"Yeah?" Jubilee sneered. "Prove it."

"Prove – " Gambit's mouth twisted into a snarl, and he had to break off, breathing deeply. He leaned forward and murmured in Jubilee's ear -- she flinched as his hot breath hit her neck. "De goddamn proof, _chere_, is right in front of you," Gambit purred. "If you ain't gonna trust me for my own sake, if you won't trust me because _I_ trusted _you_ wit'out reason, den think 'bout Xavier's garden, _petite_. 'Less you've forgotten. I would've died to save you, dat night." He drew back, staring at her. "I almost _did._"

"But you seem happy," Jubilee whispered miserably, grasping at straws.

"I'm fakin' it," Gambit said, with a steely, seamy gaze which stabbed Jubilee down to the heart, split her open. "Ain't you?"

"I don't have to sit here and take this," Jubilee blurted. She could feel her face tensing, knew tears would come if she _did_ stay. "This isn't – you aren't my father, you know. And I don't need you to be my friend. I have friends here besides you!" She rose to her feet, rushed past him, to the door.

"Wait," Gambit ordered, in a tone that froze Jubilee. He dug deliberately through sundry objects on his beside table, tossed something to – at? – her. Jubilee caught it neatly, stared at the object in her palm. She didn't know what it was. Small, round, inoffensive plastic. There was a space for a battery, but no battery inside; the LED light was dead.

"What is it?" she asked cautiously.

"It's a plant."

"What?"

"A bug," Gambit said impatiently. "Dey _trust_ you? You _happy_? Pleased wit' your shiny new collar from de Beast? Dat's how much dey trust you, girl, right dere in your hand. Thing was under my bed, pickin' up all my sweet nothin's. Bet you got one too. Dat's how much a member of a _team _you are." He shook his head in disgust. "Beast treats you like a child an' I'm startin' to see why. You a prisoner who don' even know she's in a cage. You know dat's just de way dey want you, _non_?" He turned those red headlights on her again. She felt like a deer, frozen, terrified. "Dere's nothin' so convenient as a slave thinks she's free."

Jubilee turned and fled.

000

"You are very late," Kurt said anxiously, tail lashing the air, as Jubilee stormed in. "I vas vorried. You are all right?"

Jubilee didn't answer. She dropped to all fours, rolled onto her back, and pushed herself under her bed, so only her long legs stuck out. Nightcrawler enjoyed the view for a second, realized what he was doing, blushed and glanced away. "Jubilee?" He said cautiously. "Vhat are you doing?"

"Shut up," Jubilee suggested, in a tone Nightcrawler hadn't heard since the day they met. He closed his mouth so sharply his fangs audibly clicked. Neither teen spoke for a second; there was only the noise of Jubilee's fingers, scrabbling at something. Suddenly there was flare of sparks beneath the bed, and an electric crackle. "Ow!"

"Are you all right?" Kurt demanded again. When Jubilee didn't answer, he teleported the short distance to her side. The two of them lay on their backs in the dusty dark under Jubilee's bed, staring at her box spring.

Jubilee was fine, physically. But her eyes were wild, eyes of a feral cat, and her claws were out. Between the two of them, she held up a little plastic circle. "Did you know about this?" she growled.

Nightcrawler stared at the thing, bewildered. "Vhat is it?"

Jubilee tossed it at him, using as much force as she could drum up in the cramped quarters. The plastic thing bounced off Nightcrawler's chest. "It's a plant," she snarled, squirming out from under the bed and abandoning Kurt to the dust bunnies. "A _bug_. You people tapped my room!"

_BAMF!_ "You _people_?" Nightcrawler repeated, from where he now stood, beside her. He tried to stare her down, but his eyes were perversely drawn to the black plastic circle in his palm. "I had nothing to do vith zis. Are you sure it's a – are you sure zat's… vhat it is? Maybe it's a…"

Jubilee raised an eyebrow. "This should be good."

"Smoke detector," Nightcrawler finished weakly. He knew, even as he said it, that the suggestion was ridiculous. They both knew what it was.

"Get out," said Jubilee.

"Jubilee – " 

"Get out," Jubilee repeated, very calmly, her bottom lip trembling. Kurt hesitated. Then, with a _BAMF!_, the wiretap fell to the floor. Nightcrawler was gone.

000

Jubilee's hands were shaking so hard she could barely knock.

"_Quel est_?" Gambit sounded remarkably civil.

"Gambit?" Jubilee raised her voice, which helped to steady it. "It's me."

There was a second's silence. Gambit appeared in the door, his look steely. "What?" he said shortly, but before he even had the word out, his expression softened. He could read Jubilee's stance of contrition.

"I think I fucked up really good," Jubilee whispered, holding up the wiretap. She burst into tears.

She couldn't see, vision blurred, body racked with sobs. Jubilee could hardly identify what she was feeling. Horror, guilt, anger; crushing disappointment, disappointment once again. Gambit enclosed her in a one-armed embrace, pressing her against his chest, smoothing her short hair with one hand as he closed and locked the door with the other. He half-carried Jubilee to the bed and even helped her sit down. Face pressed into his trench coat, Jubilee cried, and cried, and cried – she ran out of tears before she ran out of reasons to keep going. Gambit, with arch-angelic patience, didn't say a word, just held her against him, smoothing her hair. Only when the floodgates had petered out to mere sniffles did they speak, Gambit discreetly sliding out of his trench coat and placing it on the bed beside him.

"I feel so stupid," Jubilee said thickly. Gambit offered her a box of Kleenex; Jubilee blew her nose, wadding up the tissue and throwing it into the trash. "I'm sorry you had to see me like this. I'm sorry you've had to see me – for like, the last two weeks. I've been an idiot."

"A bit," Gambit agreed. "Have I got you back now, den? De real Jubilee?"

"Hell yes," Jubilee sniffed.

"Well, den, don't apologize," Gambit said. "Dat's all I was hoping for. I'm sorry myself. I was hard on you."

"I deserved it," Jubilee said miserably. "You _should_ be hard on me. You shouldn't even speak to me _now_ – "

"Hey," Gambit said firmly, "Let's not descend into self-flagellation here. Dat's de easy way out. Be fair to yourself, petite. Dey hit you right where dey knew it would hurt."

Jubilee rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "You really aren't mad at me?"

"No," Gambit said patiently. "I ain't mad at you. I just had to know dat when I jailbroke, you'd be comin' with me. Couldn't leave you here."

"Then let's go," Jubilee begged. "Sooner rather than later."

Gambit sighed. "It still ain't dat simple, _chere_. You know dat."

"Wish I didn't," Jubilee muttered miserably. She stumbled to her feet, into Gambit's bathroom, and closed the door, flicking on the fluorescent light. _I'm a freak show tonight,_ she thought dismally, staring at her red eyes and wild hair. Setting her lips in a grim line, Jubilee splashed her face with water. Setting her shoulders with the resolute air of a soldier, she stepped back into Gambit's room.

Gambit had poured them both drinks – something a little stronger than water, this time, judging by the smell. He handed Jubilee a short tumbler. "Feel better?"

"Not really," Jubilee mumbled, sitting down beside Gambit again. Their legs touched; Jubilee looked down quickly, then glanced away. "But thanks." She took a tiny sip. "And thanks for the drink." The whiskey did take the edge off her misery, leaving only a dull ache where so many sharp edges should be. Cautiously, experimentally, she leaned against Gambit, put her head on his shoulder. He didn't seem to notice.

"No need to thank me," Gambit told her, shooting her a narrow grin. "We both needed one, _non?_" Jubilee tried to laugh, and they drank in silence. She drew one knee up to her chest. She missed Wolverine. The whiskey taste brought him back. _We've gotta get out of here_, Jubilee thought, and her stupid misery began to crystallize, turn into anger, determination. She took another sip of whiskey. Now, before it was too late. It almost _had_ been too late. For her, anyway.

Gambit's voice interrupted her reverie of self-recriminations, to Jubilee's blessed relief. "Hey, _petite,_ you cut your hair, didn't you?" he murmured, chuckling softly. "Look dis way, _chere_. Let me see." Jubilee turned to face him, embarrassed, knowing her eyes were nearly as red as his. Gambit cocked his head and half-smiled, eyes playful behind a Boticelli curl. "_Ma belle fille jeune_," he said, and gently touched the blunt ends, by her jaw.

_Oh fuck it_, Jubilee thought, and kissed him.

It was everything she told herself she hadn't dreamed about. His mouth was rough and hard and flash-frozen, he'd flinched and then gone stock-still – and then, after a second, Gambit kissed her back. Jubilee closed her eyes as his fingers curled around the back of her neck and her entire body ignited. _He tastes like fire cognac GUNPOWDER oh my god oh my god oh my god -- _

Gambit broke away from her, breathing hard -- stared at her, demon eyes narrow and aflame, his rough gambler's hand on her neck. Jubilee herself was panting, cherry-red fireworks spouting unnoticed from her fingertips. The very air around them was tinderbox-dry, heavy as molten stone. Jubilee closed her eyes and waited.

Just like in the garden, the kiss never came. Jubilee heard a rustle of fabric; the bedsprings moaned as Gambit thrust to his feet, so quickly that Jubilee bounced a little in the aftershock, with another squeal of springs. She opened her eyes. Gambit had grabbed his trench coat and fled, and Jubilee just had time to watch him slam the door as he rushed out.

_A/N: A lot of people were unhappy with The Glass Menagerie. That's fine, but I'm doing my best to be faithful, not merely flattering, to my characters. While I don't think Jubilee's behavior is commendable, I do think it is likely. The only point I really want to argue is whether Rogue's behavior on crutches was unrealistic – it may not be orthodox, but when I broke my leg (and believe me, it was good and broke!) I went to the beach, played badminton, skipped rope, and on one occasion used my cast as a weapon. My doctors were certainly not very happy with me, but stubbornness and denial do indeed occur!_

_I know this chapter's really late. I won a trip to Vancouver very suddenly and didn't have a chance to warn everyone about my absence. Sorry for the break, but you know… Vancouver!_

_Much love, Locked Heart Ami_


	20. Wipeout!

The next morning Gambit put the team through that hardest workout of their lives

The next morning, Gambit put the strike team through the toughest workout of their lives.

"He's trying to kill us," Vertigo gasped, collapsing in the hallway, when Remy called a five-minute water break. Pyro stuck his head in the fountain.

"It's working," Dom muttered. Nightcrawler slid down the wall and stretched his legs before him, assuring himself that they were still there.

"My _blisters_ have blisters," Vertigo groaned. She watched Avalanche examine the back of his hand; his knuckles had bruised from hitting the punching bag over and over. "What's _wrong_ with him?"

Jubilee didn't answer. She dropped into a sitting position on the stairs, aching arms crossed over her sinking heart. Gambit's behavior had rubbed her nerves into blistering rawness. _Everything_ hurt. He hadn't looked at Jubilee. He hadn't spoken to her. He'd criticized the rest of the team mercilessly, at one point nearly reducing Vertigo to tears, but Gambit refused any attention to the girl he'd kissed the night before. Jubilee could have slacked off, but she pushed herself harder -- desperate for Gambit's approval, annoyance, _acknowledgement_. It hadn't worked. Now she sat on the bottom step of the stairwell, trying to rub life back into her cramped fists, smarting with frustration.

Pyro pulled his head out from under the fountain, shaking it, so that water droplets flew everywhere. He raked a hand through his soaked hair. "Hey, love, what's the matter?" he called to Jubilee. "Cat got your tongue?"

Vertigo's look blackened. She apparently felt that Jubilee's silence rendered the new girl invisible, and was therefore desirable. "Oh, don't bother her highness," she sneered. "Princess Jubilation's much too grand to mingle with us commoners."

"Not too grand to pant over Gambit, though," Pyro said scornfully. He looked Jubilee up and down. "Enjoying this, aren't you, Jubes? Bit of tough love from the Cajun? Bet you wish he had a whip."

Nightcrawler, who had been drinking from the fountain, eyed St. John. "Be quiet."

Pyro's eyebrows shot into the stratosphere. "Come again?"

"Leave her be," Nightcrawler said, straightening. His tone was polite but firm. "You are showing yourself up."

Dom and Vertigo had both fallen silent, watching the exchange. "Oh, come on, Kurt. Why are you bothering to defend her?" Pyro jerked a thumb at Jubilee. "Think you're going to earn brownie points?"

Nightcrawler shrugged and bent back over the fountain. "_Nein. _You're just annoying me."

Pyro, snorting, turned away. "Whatever. Come on, Jubes. What's up?" Jubilee stared at the dirty tile floor in front of her feet, unsmiling. "Fine," Pyro snapped, after a second. "Pout. Hope your face freezes that way." He glanced at Dom. "How much time do we have?"

Avalanche glanced at his stopwatch. "Two minutes," he muttered. "We should probably get back inside."

He held the training room's door for Vertigo and Pyro. "If I'm _killed_ as a result of Gambit being _completely_ psychotic," Vertigo told Dom as she passed him, "You can have my PS3."

"Thanks," Dom said, sounding genuinely touched. He glanced behind him, holding the door with his foot. "You two coming?"

"Tell Gambit I feel sick," Jubilee said, still examining the ground. "Tell him I think I'm going to have to go back to my room."

Avalanche turned to Nightcrawler. "Kurt?"

"I vill be zere in a second," Nightcrawler said.

Dom rolled his eyes and let the door slam. Nightcrawler sat down on the step beside Jubilee. She wrinkled her nose. "Not really feeling like company right now," she said coolly, stared straight ahead, and waited for Nightcrawler to take the hint. He didn't; she could hear him fidgeting with something in his pocket. "It's really sweet that you're making like my friend," Jubilee snapped, anger creeping into the corners of her voice, "But I've had my monthly quota of head games, okay?" Kurt didn't reply. "Look," Jubilee spat, whipping her head around, "If you want me to spell this out for you – " she broke off uncertainly. Kurt was holding something up in the air between them, clasped between two fingers like a poker chip. A black plastic circle, with a dead LED light in one corner. Jubilee furrowed her brow, tried to read his expression, but the angle of the stairs cloaked Nightcrawler's face in shadow. "Yeah," she said, "What about it?"

"It vas under my bed," Nightcrawler replied, and his voice was so uncharacteristically bitter that Jubilee thought someone else had spoken. He tossed the wiretap down between them, leaned over, and cradled his head in his hands. "I don't understand," Kurt mumbled. "To pursue _my_ conversation, after all zis time… to tap_ my_ room…" he shook his head, raised his hands entreatingly towards the ceiling. "Am I not trusted?" he mumbled. "Have I given any indication zat I cannot be relied upon? Is my privacy vorth so little?"

"I'm not throwing you a pity party," Jubilee sniffed, "If that's what you're looking for."

Kurt stared at the wiretap with loathing. "Who do you think listens to zem?" he murmured. "Sinister? McCoy?"

"You'd know better than me," Jubilee said. "You're the one who grew up here. You're the one who told me how super-great it is."

Kurt was silent for a second. "Yes," he said at length, "I suppose I am."

The training room's door opened. Pyro poked his head into the hallway. "Told Gambit you were sick," he reported to Jubilee.

"Yeah," said Jubilee. "And?"

"He said that's fine," Pyro said.

Jubilee waited. "That's it?" she said finally.

"Yeah," said Pyro.

"Just 'that's fine'?" Jubilee said, trying not to whine. "He didn't ask if I was okay? Or what was the matter? Or whether I was dying a hideous death out here?"

Pyro stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him. "He said 'that's fine'," he shrugged, "And that it's okay to go back to your room if you need to. And to call Doctor McCoy if it's serious. Oh, and Kurt?" St. John glanced at Nightcrawler. "He asked you to stay out here and make sure she's okay." Kurt smiled faintly. Pyro's eyes narrowed. "And _I'm _telling you, don't try anything," he said coolly to Nightcrawler. "She's out of your league."

"I am not familiar vith the expression," Nightcrawler said.

"Well, just don't try anything, then," Pyro said. He ducked back inside the training room. The door closed with a slam.

"I am sorry," Kurt said, turning to Jubilee. "Gambit is quite right. I have been sitting here whining and not once asked vhether you are vell. Do you need to lie down?"

"No," Jubilee said. She leaned over, cradling her chin in her hands. "I just can't go back in there."

Kurt watched her for a second. Then he asked quietly, "Has something happened between Lebeau and yourself?"

"What gives you that idea?" Jubilee said, too quickly.

"Ze fact zat you are both in rages," Nightcrawler replied, an eyebrow lifted. "I am not sure vhether I am in more danger in zere, or out here."

Jubilee shook her head. "I'm not pissed off at _you,_ Kurt," she mumbled. "I'm just… pissed off."

"Do you vant to go back to your room?" Kurt asked. He rose, gallantly offered Jubilee his arm.

"I want," Jubilee said moodily, not moving, "To get out of_ here_. The _walls_ are closing in on me." Kurt slid down the wall, back into a sitting position. "Where are we?" Jubilee asked him.

Nightcrawler glanced at her. "Outside ze gym," he said, worriedly. "You are sure you're all right?"

"No, I mean, geographically; I don't know where this building is."

"Greater New York," Nightcrawler replied. "Actually, ve are not so far from ze X-Mansion."

"What are you talking about?" Jubilee said. "Xavier's Institute is in Salem."

"Salem Center, New York," Nightcrawler replied. He sounded amused. "You thought zey vere in Massachusetts?"

"It seemed appropriate," Jubilee said, blushing, and Nightcrawler smothered a laugh. "New York, huh?" She dragged her toe across the tiles. "Maybe I should escape to Canada," she mumbled. "Do they have indoor plumbing there yet?"

"No," Nightcrawler replied. "Zey tried to install it, but vere eaten by polar bears."

Jubilee giggled. She glanced at Nightcrawler appraisingly, and then asked, "You wanna get out of here?"

Nightcrawler eyed her, sharp and cautious. "Vhat do you mean?"

"If I stay in this building much longer, I'm gonna go stark-raving-Bjork-crazy," Jubilee said. "Gambit's given us the day off. Let's go somewhere. Do something."

"Doctor McCoy won't want you to – "

"Doctor McCoy can get a life that isn't mine."

"Gambit – "

"—Has gone _Apocalypse Now_. Let's flee."

"But I – "

"Should come with me," Jubilee said, smiling.

Nightcrawler shook his head. "I don't think so," he said firmly.

"Come on, why not?" Jubilee wheedled. "It'll be fun." From a rational point of view, it wasn't really the wisest course of action, but Jubilee had accepted that events in her life were no longer occurring in a rational fashion. She'd been kidnapped by the secret service and kissed by an imperfect stranger, and this morning, she wanted to get gone, consequences be damned. Jubilee was going stir-crazy, and Gambit's burning eyes weren't helping matters. "Without you, I'll probably get hopelessly lost and never come back. So you're gonna _have_ to come with me, aren't you?" Nightcrawler opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Come on, Captain Kurt." Jubilee smiled winningly. "You can be my tour guide. Bet you know all the best beaches around here."

"I've never been to ze beach."

Jubilee's mouth dropped open. "You live in New York!" She sputtered. "How can you not have been to the beach?"

"I am not supposed to leave ze compound," Nightcrawler replied, not looking at her.

That sealed it, Jubilee decided. She _was_ going and he _was _coming. "Says who?" she sputtered. "Since when?"

"Says Mystique and Mister Sinister," Nightcrawler replied, "Since I first arrived."

"How long ago was that?"

"Almost eleven years. Don't look at me like zat," Nightcrawler muttered, noticing Jubilee's horror. He was stubbornly staring at his feet. "It is not as though I've never left zis place. I have run a great many missions. But, during ze times vhen my skills are not needed, it is ridiculous to expose the public to unnecessary stress."

"Stress?" She didn't understand.

"It possibly has escaped your notice," Nightcrawler said dryly, "Zat I am not vhat you vould call conventionally attractive."

"But they can't just lock you up here," Jubilee snapped, "So you'll never scare anyone. That's bullshit."

Nightcrawler shrugged. "Zat is life," he said. "It vas for my sake as well. I vas quite young vhen I vas recruited. I vould not have been able to defend myself, if targeted."

"How old are you now?" said Jubilee.

"Almost nineteen," replied Nightcrawler.

"Then congratulations," said Jubilee. "You're a legal adult. You are officially allowed to do whatever you want. Let's go to the beach." Kurt was shaking his head, not looking at her. "Kurt," Jubilee said coolly. "They tapped my room. They tapped _your_ room. They tortured both of us. You don't owe these people _anything._"

"Hmph," Nightcrawler said, but that wasn't a denial. "And vhy should I defy my commanding officers and run off, somewhere I've never been, vith a young lady who has proven herself countless times to be both impulsive and reckless?"

"Because I'm gonna wear a bikini," Jubilee said. "Anyway, how are you gonna be a pirate if you've never set toe in the ocean?"

"_Zere_ is my stupid excuse," Nightcrawler said, pushing to his feet. "Let's go."

000

They took the crowded subway, then the train, and Nightcrawler encountered no resistance beyond some mildly censorious glances. A punk gang eyed him with approval; in the shadow of Nightcrawler's hood, Jubilee thought they might have mistaken the marks on Kurt's face for tattoos. Nightcrawler's hands, however, remained balled into fists in his pockets for the entire duration of their journey. "Zis vas an extremely foolish idea," he muttered as they disembarked the train, almost directly onto a sandy boardwalk.

"Cheer up, emo Kurt," Jubilee reached out, pushed down his hood. "Take a look around." Monday morning; the beach was deserted, its customary occupants working for the weekend. Nightcrawler's eyes widened as he took in the expanse of yellow sand, the fathomless rolling waves. His mouth opened, but he said nothing; his tail stopped twitching as he closed his eyes, listening to the crash and echo of the surf.

Jubilee felt herself smiling. He was so easy to impress. She glanced around; her first impression had been right. The shore was unoccupied, excepting a bored-looking twenty-something manning the rental shop. She squinted to see what exactly was being rented, then shrieked, "Hell yes! Surfboards!"

Nightcrawler flinched and opened one eye. "You needn't shout so loud," he said with great dignity. "I _can_ hear you."

Jubilee, grinning, dropped her backpack into Nightcrawler's arms. "Scope out a spot for us," she ordered. "There's a beach blanket in there." It wasn't actually a beach blanket, it was the coverlet off Jubilee's bed, but she prided herself on her ability to improvise. "You wanna look for a spot with wind shelter, like, between two dunes or something."

"And vhat vill you be doing?" Nightcrawler asked acerbically, swinging the bag onto his back.

"I just have to go get something," Jubilee replied, eyeing the surf shop. "Can you swim?"

"Of course." Nightcrawler followed her gaze and flinched. "I mean, no," he said, shaking his head vigorously. "_Nein_, no. I don't think so, _fraulein_."

Jubilee grinned. "What kind of a pirate are you?"

"I vould have been safer vith Gambit," Nightcrawler lamented, setting off across the sand.

Jubilee watched him go, then approached the surf shop. "Hey," she called. "I wish to interrupt your paid vacation."

The clerk looked up from his magazine. "I wish to be interrupted," he said, smiling and closing his magazine haphazardly. It slipped off the counter; he didn't pick it up. "What can I do for you?"

"HWS shortboards? I wanna rent two for the day."

The clerk emerged from behind the counter to let the boards off the chain. "You here alone?" he asked Jubilee, as though he had missed the fairly un-missable Nightcrawler.

"Yeah," Jubilee snorted, "I'm renting one board for each leg."

"No need to bite my head off," The clerk grinned. "I'm not coming on to you."

"Uh-huh."

"Seriously. In my other life, I'm flamboyantly gay." Jubilee rolled her eyes. "No, it's true," he insisted, holding up his magazine for Jubilee's inspection: _Vogue UK._

"I love New York," Jubilee laughed. She tucked a HWS under either arm.

The clerk watched her. "You've done this before. What beach?"

Jubilee shrugged. "Different beaches. Mostly California."

"Careful," he warned her, going back behind the counter. "The waves here are a bit rougher than what you get in So-Cal. We don't have a lifeguard, weekdays."

"I'll batsignal you if I need rescuing," Jubilee promised, and set off to find Nightcrawler.

He was weighing down the corners of their "beach blanket" with pieces of driftwood. "I see you have procured our untimely demise," he muttered, eyeing the surfboards.

"You're excited," Jubilee said. "Don't lie."

"Ze thought of my own impending doom causes me _boundless_ excitement," Nightcrawler sniffed. Actually, he was smiling, but he was doing his best to hide it. "We aren't alone, by ze way," he warned Jubilee. "Zere's two girls, Rogue's age, sunbathing – " a twitch of his tail – "Down zat way."

Jubilee unbuttoned her cardigan and slid out of her jeans – Nightcrawler looked away guiltily, but she had her swimsuit on underneath. "We'll avoid them," Jubilee shrugged, adjusting a shoulder strap. Her bathing suit – a memento of her shopping trip with Rogue – was white, printed with cherries. Nightcrawler, of course, was too dignified for beachwear. He pulled off his hooded sweater, and, dressed only in his jeans and his crucifix, followed Jubilee. She carried their surfboards across the sand, towards the salt-blue Atlantic ocean. "Oh my god," Jubilee gasped, as she stepped into the surf, and just as quickly jumped back out. "It's _freezing_!"

"We don't have to go in the water," Nightcrawler reminded her, squinting at the waves as though grimly sizing up an enemy.

"No, I'm fine," Jubilee replied, setting her teeth on edge, though they were already chattering. Goose pimples rose on her arms as she splashed resolutely into the water, still trailing the boards and a more reluctant Nightcrawler. "Here," she told Kurt, when they were about hip-deep, pushing a board to him by its tow line. "Put the strap around your ankle so you don't lose your board." She steadied the shortboard while Nightcrawler secured the safety line, then pushed her HWS at him, pulling the elastic tight around her ankle. From there, they paddled on the boards out over the sunlit-silver water. The sea beneath them was so deep that the waves were black.

"Vell," said Nightcrawler, somewhat relieved, "Zis is not so difficult."

"Great," Jubilee laughed. "Now try standing up."

Kurt muttered something inscrutable in German. However, he not only stood up, but managed – after a few pratfalls – to stay in a full, upright position effortlessly. Jubilee was impressed; merely standing on a surfboard had taken her a thoroughly bruised and waterlogged hour to master. She delivered a serviceable, if somewhat improvised, lecture in the mechanics of surfing; then they were off. Nightcrawler was a natural, immediately better at surfing than he had any right to be. "It must be your tail," Jubilee said bewilderedly, watching him. "Giving you an advantage. You know, helping you balance."

"I doubt it," Nightcrawler said smugly. He tucked his tail between his legs and promptly fell off his board.

Jubilee laughed, spreading her arms wide and closing her eyes. _No dog tags, no collars, no bugs under the bed._ Just the sun's golden weight on her arms, the sea, the smell of salt. She grabbed another wave and slid down its crystalline spine, grinning; the wind whickered past her lean body, threaded between her legs. "Well?" she yelled to Nightcrawler. "Awesome or what?"

"It vill be _awesome_ tonight, to explain vhere we've been!" Nightcrawler yelled back, but he was smiling.

Jubilee rolled her eyes. No one would notice they'd gone, except maybe Gambit, who would keep his mouth shut. _Gambit's mouth… no, no, no!_ She wasn't going to go there. "Or, you know," Jubilee yelled to Nightcrawler, closing her eyes again and lifting her face to the sun – determinedly enjoying herself -- "We could just never _go _back!"

Nightcrawler said nothing for a second. Then his voice came, too fast and panicked. "Jubilee – "

"What?" Jubilee said, not opening her eyes. "I was just jok-- " The salt sea slapped her across the face, swallowing the rest of her excuse, as a rogue wave knocked Jubilee off her board and into the black. She gasped a breath, eyes blinded and stinging in the whitewater, and groped for her board.

She only found it when the hollow shortboard, still attached to her ankle line, ricocheted, its hard wooden edge slamming against her temple. Jubilee, stunned, watched her vision swim black for a second; the board whipped away, above the waves, ripping the ankle cord from her leg. _Falling, falling, falling…_ She tried to gasp another breath, and got only water; doubled over in a spasm of coughing, lungs bursting for air. Too panicked to swim for the surface – barely knowing where the surface _was_ – Jubilee thrashed, her insides on fire, salt-burned. Her brain was buzzing with lack of oxygen.

Then someone grabbed her hand. Jubilee wrapped both arms around her savior, panicking, thrashing and gasping and choking down water.

_BAMF!_

Sunlight and air. Jubilee sputtered in the sand, so weak that all her limbs felt like sandbags, with the dead weight of another body on top of her own. She gasped a great ragged breath of sweet air, then turned her head and coughed up seawater, arms still wrapped around her rescuer. Finally the coughing spasm subsided; only then did Jubilee open her eyes. Kurt lay on top of her, and she could feel his chest rising with his quick breaths. His arms were still wrapped around her shoulders; she could smell brimstone. He had saved her life, Jubilee realized, and she saw that Nightcrawler knew it too – not because he looked smug or expectant, but because the ghostly fear of losing her lingered in his eyes. They clung together in the sand, both shaking and speechless. Jubilee stared up at him, a wan, white-faced, waifish thing; their eyes met, noses inches apart.

"Thanks," Jubilee whispered hoarsely.

Kurt shook his head, rolling off of her and helping her sit up, then draping his black sweater over her shoulders. Jubilee pulled his hoodie tight around her; she was inexplicably freezing. The sea lapped against the shore, mockingly tranquil.

"What happened to the boards?" Jubilee asked, but before she finished the question she spotted them -- the shortboards had washed up on the shore. "That tow line was _useless_," Jubilee muttered, gingerly touching the red circle on her ankle where the safety cord had rubbed her skin raw. She pushed herself to her feet to stand beside . Jubilee glanced at him, and tried to smile. "Kurt," she said, "I'm okay. Are _you_ okay?" All the short, suede-fine fur on his neck and back was standing on edge, like an angry cat. "Kurt?" Jubilee said again, uncertainly.

Kurt paused, then turned to Jubilee, threw an arm around her waist, and kissed her theatrically in full pirate fashion.

Jubilee's shaky knees completely gave out; Nightcrawler supported her weight easily. His kiss went on and on, a miniature drowning of its own. Kissing Gambit had been like fire; Kurt was the ocean itself, mysterious and dark and overwhelming. When Nightcrawler drew back, there were stars in Jubilee's eyes. She had always thought that was just an expression. She had never been so confused in her life. Nightcrawler released her gently, and Jubilee landed hard on her butt on the beach blanket, bedazzled and bewildered.

"Oh, no," she moaned, dropping her head to rest in her hands, elbows on her bent knees. "You've turned me into a two-person-kisser!"

_A/N: Nightcrawler and Jubilee's kiss was modeled on a very famous photograph taken at the end of WWII. Personally, I think this photograph is only made EVEN COOLER by the addition of mutants in bathing suits. __**(commons dot wikimedia dot org slash wiki slash Image:KissingtheWarGoodbye dot jpg)**_

_I'm getting an increasing number of reviews to the effect of "UPDATE NOW, YOU IDLE WENCH". I sometimes need to write slowly, especially while balancing my stupidly busy "real life". I promise I'm not going anywhere! On that note, I have a few things going on which have called my attention rather rudely, so I'm going to need longer breaks between updates – just a heads-up. Please be patient with me and don't immediately conclude that I've fled for Tijuana. __**grin**_

_Much love,_

_Locked Heart Ami_


	21. Rebel Girl

Nightcrawler blinked

Nightcrawler blinked. "A... vhat?"

Jubilee pointed an accusing finger from where she sprawled, fully blitzkrieged, on the beach blanket. "A two-person-kisser!" She said. "Look what you've done! You've trampified me!"

"Vhat are you talking about?" Nightcrawler demanded. "Has Pyro – "

"Not Pyro!"

"Then -- "

"Gambit, okay?" Jubilee bristled.

Kurt stared at her, demon-gold eyes slitted; his fangs clicked, and for a second he looked very frightening. "I vill kill him," he spat. "Zat filthy – "

"You most certainly will not!" Jubilee said hastily, scrambling to her feet and blocking Kurt's path before he could take off through the sand.

Nightcrawler didn't shove past Jubilee – although, given his mutation, he easily could have. He stood still, crossing his arms stubbornly. "He is taking advantage of you."

"Not so much," said Jubilee. "I kissed him first."

Kurt stepped back quickly and regarded Jubilee, increasingly frustrated. "You kissed Gambit?" Jubilee nodded. "_Vhy?_"

"It kind of just happened," Jubilee admitted.

"Vhy _Gambit_?" Nightcrawler demanded, incredulous. "St. John, that vould be understandable, but… Gambit! He is twice your age! His _trench coat_ is twice your age! He is rude and condescending! He is a thief! He… he _smokes_!"

"No one's asking _you_ to kiss him!" Jubilee snapped, annoyed. "I just like him, okay?"

Kurt's expression cooled. "In zat case, I apologize for my forwardness," he said icily. "Obviously, I have committed a grievous indiscretion."

"You don't have to apologize," Jubilee muttered, trying to think of some way to keep this situation from deteriorating even further. "This day," she said accusingly -- out of frustration, more than anything else -- "Is NOT turning out the way I wanted it to."

"No," Nightcrawler snapped, "Not for me, either."

Something in Kurt's voice when he said that, even as he continued to glare... Jubilee squinted at Wagner, trying to read his expression. _He's not angry,_ she realized, _He's hurt. And humiliated_. He was glaring and growling, but his tail hung like a kicked puppy's between his legs.

Of course, Jubilee knew Kurt liked her. She wasn't stupid. But she hadn't given it much thought; had been far too busy chasing Gambit to pay the slightest attention to any competing source of testosterone. Yet she couldn't deny the fresh discovery that Kurt was an inappropriately, inexplicably awesome kisser – or that, despite her annoyance, she was staring out at the world through a sudden blur of salt and stars.

So _now_ what?

"I'm going for a walk," Jubilee said. She rose, picking up Nightcrawler's sweater where it had fallen in the sand, and pulled it over her head against the wind. "You can come or not come," she said. "Your choice." Nightcrawler didn't say anything. He stepped past Jubilee, down to the water's edge; Jubilee watched as Kurt gathered the shortboards and pulled them closer to the blanket, where the surf couldn't reclaim them. Then, as she stepped through the sand, he fell in alongside her.

Late afternoon, and the beach was cooling off. Jubilee's newly short hair whipped in her face. She pushed it out of the way irritably as they wandered silently, and somewhat dismally, through the dunes.

Kurt, to his credit, was the first to break the silence. "I forgot to tell you,_ fraulein_," he said – softly, and still rather coolly. "I admire your… this." He waved a hand at Jubilee's newly-shorn locks. "Very daring."

"Aren't men supposed to, like, not even notice this stuff?" Jubilee muttered. "You and Gambit both liked it."

Kurt was quiet for a few seconds. Then he said stiffly, "I vould like to know vhere matters stand between yourself and him."

"Yeah," Jubilee said, "So would I."

"Vhat do you mean?"

"You saw him this morning," Jubilee said softly, staring at her bare feet. "He wouldn't talk to me. He wouldn't even _look _at me."

"A vicked vay to treat a voman," Nightcrawler mis-pronounced, with feeling.

"I don't understand," Jubilee murmured, more to herself than Kurt. "Did I do something wrong? Did _he_ want to kiss _me _first? Did he change his mind _overnight?_" She ran her hands through her hair. "He didn't seem half so disgusted by me when his _tongue_ was in my mouth!"

"Don't," Nightcrawler said.

Jubilee glanced at him. "What?"

"Don't tell me this," Nightcrawler repeated, quietly, but with venom. His eyes were blade-narrow. "If you prefer Lebeau, you are entitled, but do not tell me how he has mistreated you. It is agony to hear, unless…" Kurt took a deep breath, looking away. "Unless you vill let me show you how you _ought_ to be treated."

Jubilee blinked. "Kurt," she began, and then had nothing to follow it up with. Despite Alison's words a week ago, Jubilee didn't feel older than sixteen; she felt younger than ever, and _completely_ at a loss with all this romance stuff.

"Are you so blinded by passion that you cannot see his callousness?" Kurt said sharply, staring at Jubilee through absurdly long lashes. "You vill simply accept being treated so cruelly?"

"No," Jubilee said, "I agree with you. He was a jerk this morning. It was stupid."

"You are too good for him," Nightcrawler said. "He's a fool, he does not know a good thing vhen he has it. He is spoiled."

"But," Jubilee said helplessly, "He's _Gambit_." Gambit, and everything that entailed – ruby eyes, gambler hands, a voice like scotch and velvet. Jubilee's knees went weak just thinking about it. There were crushes, Jubilee thought, and then there were _crushes_. This was definitely the latter. She _knew_ Gambit was being a dick, and she _still_ had it bad.

Nightcrawler shook his head. "I haven't a hope, have I?"

Jubilee walked down into the surf, and Nightcrawler followed her. The cold water lapped seductively at her ankles, inviting her back to stay. "I like you, Kurt," she said finally. "But it wouldn't be fair."

Nightcrawler considered this. "Is it because of this?" He asked quietly.

"What?"

"This," Nightcrawler said, frustrated, and waved an arm.

The young soldier's merciless, all-encompassing gesture took in his entirety -- golden eyes, fangs, blue-black fur, all the rest. Jubilee stared at Nightcrawler, open-mouthed. She could barely speak for a second. Then she yelled, "How _dare_ you!" Nightcrawler flinched. "Why would you say that? How could you _think_ that? That stuff doesn't matter to me!"

"Do you remember when we met?" Kurt snapped. "You asked if you vere in hell!"

"I'd been conscious for a grand total of thirty seconds. Of_ course _I was confused!"

"_Ich bin ein deimon!"_

"_Ni shi wo pengyou!"_ Jubilee retorted, which at least confused Nightcrawler into shutting up. "You don't look like a _deimon_ to me," she continued, trying to keep her voice level. "Am I the kind of person who would look at you, even now, and still see that?"

"No," Nightcrawler stammered. "I thought – "

"I _get_ what you thought," Jubilee spat, turning away.

Nightcrawler murmured, "I must apologize. The question was – callous. But I did not mean to slight you. You must allow me to explain."

"_Must _I?" Jubilee snorted.

"_Ja_," Kurt insisted. "Please." Jubilee, flushed, stared into the salt water. "Many years ago," Nightcrawler said, "Vhen ze Munich Circus vas bought by an American – "

"What is this, story-time?"

"Vhen ze Munich Circus vas bought by an American," Kurt continued patiently, "I vent from being an acrobatic prodigy to occupying ze freak show. I vas not asked how I felt about this development. I did not give my consent." Nightcrawler stood ankle-deep in the surf, taking in the entire ocean with a thousand-yard stare. He grasped his crucifix with one hand. "I slept vith ze fleas, on dirty straw, in a rotting wooden wagon so small I could not stand. I spent my days watching people watch me. Some people feared me. Truly feared me, as a demon. Others laughed at me, and that vas vorse."

Pitted against Kurt's naked grief, Jubilee's anger melted. She watched his face -- gaunt with pain -- and asked quietly, "How old were you?"

"Nine," Nightcrawler replied, and the salt air stung Jubilee's eyes. "And then, one day, a card shark came to ze circus. From my prison, I vatched this rude American -- with his sunglasses, and his trench coat, and his beautiful orange-haired companion – beating ze midway agents at their own games, cheating cheaters vith a smile."

"Gambit," Jubilee guessed.

Nightcrawler nodded. "And Mystique. The American said something to me – I did not speak English at ze time – and laughed. Vhich I had grown used to. At midnight, vhen ze circus had closed, they came back."

"To rescue you," Jubilee provided.

"I didn't think so at ze time,"" Nightcrawler said. "I thought zey vere going to kill me. There had been lynchings already, in that area. Gambit picked the lock on the wagon, and I cowered in a corner, too terrified to scream for help. He held out a hand at – to -- me."

"What happened then?"

Nightcrawler coughed. "I may have bitten him," he admitted, grinning.

Jubilee snorted with laughter, as much relieved as amused. "I bit Wolverine," she provided cheerfully. "Before I even knew his name. Tried to rob him, too."

"Ve are a very ungrateful pair," Nightcrawler laughed. He stepped backwards, out of the surf. They began to walk along the beach again.

"What did Gambit do?"

"Nothing," Nightcrawler replied. "He had me by ze shoulder, so I couldn't run off, but he vas very gentle. I remember being shocked, that this rude American had such gentleness in him. He gave me some clothes, and I – "

"They kept you _naked?_" blurted Jubilee.

Nightcrawler simply regarded her, and Jubilee dropped her eyes, blushing. "I don't know how Gambit and Mystique convinced me to come vith them," he continued, after the awkward pause. "I vas terrified. He's never admitted it, but I suspect zat Gambit simply charmed me."

"Charmed you?"

"He wields persuasive abilities – a part of his mutation," Nightcrawler replied, furrowing his brow. "Or ve think so, though he denies it. Vhy do you?..."

"Never mind," Jubilee said after a second, swallowing hard. "Keep going."

"That is ze end," Nightcrawler shrugged. "I joined ze Brotherhood. Gambit deserted, later that year."

"I don't get you," Jubilee said. "They treated you like an animal. You've been through hell. How can you believe in god?"

Nightcrawler glanced down at the cross in his hand and smiled at Jubilee. "How can I not?" He asked with a playful smile. "I vas rescued, vasn't I? Vhat vere ze odds?"

"God and good luck are different things," Jubilee said. "That's too easy."

"Of course, fraulein," Nightcrawler said. "And yet, vhen ve met, did you not think yourself in hell?"

Jubilee had no answer. "Why did you tell me this?" She said, to change the subject.

Nightcrawler's smile faded. "So you vould understand vhy I asked vhat I did," he replied softly. "It had nothing to do vith you."

Jubilee nodded slowly. "Okay," she said. "But in that case, it's my turn to tell you a story."

"_Ach,"_ Nightcrawler laughed, "Vhat have I started?"

Jubilee poked his shoulder. "Shut up! I listened to yours." She bit her lip and began – somewhat awkwardly -- "So… Sinister told you guys who my parents were?"

"He didn't have to," Nightcrawler said. "Most mutants knew of ze Lees. Sinister complained of their activities often. He felt that their stance on mutant rights vas much too libertarian… that they worked at cross-purposes vith the Brotherhood."

"The government _hated_ dad and mama," Jubilee agreed. "We got tax-audited, like, ten times." She dragged her bare feet in the cool sand. "They were great parents. I was lucky. But… You know, when they went public as mutant-rights activists… That put _me_ in the spotlight, too. They were fighting for their daughter, and the opposition wanted to know what their daughter could do." She shrugged. "I never had the option of keeping my mutation private. People would've found out anyway -- I couldn't touch a computer without frying it -- but, you know, anyone who knew me knew I was a mutant. And that sucked. I lost a lot of friends."

"_Ja,_" Nightcrawler said. His expression was unreadable, but he was listening.

"When mama and dad died, they never found the people who k – who… did it," Jubilee said. "But whoever it was, was _thorough_. Finished them. Torched our house. There was barely anything still intact to bury." Jubilee's stomach turned queasily over. "It happened overnight. I was at a sleepover. And I wonder… how could the neighbors not have heard? Did they sleep through it?" Jubilee reached down, picked up a flat blue stone, and skimmed it across the surface of the water. The tears weren't coming.

"Jubilee?" Nightcrawler prompted, when she didn't speak.

"The police thought I did it," Jubilee said bluntly. "They knew my powers were energy-based, and they saw that the house was a smoldering wreck, and they put two and two together and got five. They had no leads, so they figured that a teenage mutant _must _be capable of murder."

"They pressed charges?"

Jubilee shook her head. "They couldn't. They didn't have a leg to stand on except hatred. Not for a lack of questioning me, though." She skimmed another stone along the ocean's surface. It skipped three times. "I had no relatives in North America," Jubilee said, "And I'm not legally a citizen of China, so I couldn't stay with my grandparents. But no one in LA would take me." She laughed. "My family had friends, _so_ many friends; you should've seen our parties. But when it was just me, all of a sudden, no one cared. I was someone else's problem."

"And then?"

Jubilee pushed her hands into the kangaroo pocket of Kurt's sweater. "They put me in foster care," she said.

"Foster care?" Nightcrawler said. "But ze Brotherhood sought you on ze streets."

"The streets were preferable to foster care," Jubilee said. "At least the kind I got."

Nightcrawler shook his head. "Ze Brotherhood," he said softly. "A collection of frightened children, bound together with barbed wire."

"That's poetic," Jubilee said cautiously, eying Kurt. "Not very loyal, though."

Wagner looked at her and – did he actually roll his eyes? "Do not misinterpret my loyalties," he said coolly. "The Brotherhood rescued me, but I have long since paid my dues to them. I do not suffer under any particularly strong feelings of contractual obligation. Particularly after I found zat microphone."

"Then why don't you leave?" Jubilee challenged. "Pull a Gambit?"

Nightcrawler half-smiled. "And go vhere," he inquired, "And do vhat? Gambit had family and friends to return to, or at least, he knew how to make them. I cannot show my face out-of-doors. I certainly cannot embrace a vorld that doesn't vant me."

Jubilee watched Nightcrawler, trying to gauge his sincerity. "What if I told you that you _could_ leave the Brotherhood behind?" she asked carefully. "That there _was_ a place that would want you?"

"I vould say zat you vere being very foolish," Kurt said sharply. Jubilee sighed. She couldn't_ force_ freedom on him. "And then," he murmured, staring at the sea, "I vould ask you vhere such a place might be found."

Jubilee, heart hammering, bent and picked up a twiggy bit of driftwood. She drew a large "X" in the sand. Nightcrawler watched her; they walked on for a minute, in silence. Finally, Kurt muttered, "I know of Xavier's Academy. But Sinister said – "

"Whatever Sinister said was a lie," said Jubilee. "I've been there. Everyone's… nice." Well, except Emma Frost, but apparently you couldn't avoid Emma Frost, no matter where you went.

"It isn't zat." Kurt shook his head, staring out at the blazing orange sunset. "Sinister said that they vould not accept me, after ze things I have done. If you knew -- "

"Don't tell me," Jubilee said quickly. "I don't _want_ to know. None of it was your idea?"

"No."

"Then it doesn't matter. They were willing to take Gambit. They'll take you." Nightcrawler frowned, and a twitch of movement caught Jubilee's eye. She glanced downwards; Nightcrawler's hands were trembling at the very idea of mutiny. Instinctively, Jubilee reached down and took them in her own. "They wouldn't turn you away." She gave him her blue-ribbon winning smile. "Look, Kurt, if you're willing to jailbreak with me, I'll take care of everything." Nightcrawler wouldn't meet her eye; he was staring at Jubilee's hands, clasping his own. "_…Are_ you willing to jailbreak with me?" Jubilee prodded gently, as the sun's rays frayed and faded.

"Villing?" Nightcrawler murmured. "I have been vaiting for years. Vhat took you so long?" He paused. "Don't tell Rogue."

Jubilee snorted, dropping his hands. "Oh, yeah, it's good you told me that, because that was totally my plan. 'Hey, Rogue, guess what, Kurt and I are off to join the X-men. It's gonna rock. See you later.'"

"Yes," Kurt said gravely, "It is exactly zat vhich you should not do." He paused. "Do you hear something?"

They stopped walking. Jubilee listened, but heard only the crash of waves, the cries of gulls. "No."

"Anyway," Nightcrawler continued, laughing despite himself, "I am sorry for trampifying you. It vas not my intention."

"I guess I can forgive you," Jubilee allowed. She smiled at him. "But only because that kiss _rocked_." Nightcrawler looked pleased. "Promise me you won't slaughter Gambit," Jubilee added.

Nightcrawler sniffed. "Fine," he said. "Though only in order to honor your incomprehensible wishes." He paused again, pointed ears twitching. "You are _sure_ you hear nothing?"

"Hang on." Jubilee listened, and to her surprise, yes, sure enough, there it was. The faint buzz of music through bad speakers, far off. "Sounds like a boom box," she said. 

Nightcrawler nodded. "Behind ze dune, I think. Remember? There vere two young ladies here in ze sun?" He turned. "Let's go back."

Jubilee frowned, tilted her head to one side. There was something familiar about the tinny wisps of music. "Hang on a second, okay?" It was that rolling girl-group beat, drilled into her head during countless gymnastics routines: _DA-dadada-DA-dadada-DA… _

Sudden suspicion seized Jubilee. "No way," she giggled. "Kurt, I've got to see something. Here." She shimmied out of the hoodie, tossed it to Kurt, and climbed the nearby sand dune in her cherry bikini. "Come on!" She called to Nightcrawler, peeping through the tall grasses at the bank of the dune. Wagner made a reluctant noise, but he followed her, pulling his sweater over his head.

Nightcrawler had been correct. On the other side of the dune, two young women lay on beach towels, apparently determined to snare the sun's last rays. One had wavy black hair to her waist, dressed in a black sarong and aviator sunglasses; the other, bottle-bleached, was sunning her back. Her face was hidden, but Jubilee would know the girl's ragged suicide-blonde hair anywhere – particularly combined with her evidently stuck-in-the-sixties musical taste.

Jubilee glanced back at Kurt; he had shrugged into his sweater, pulling the hood low over his face. "Okay," Nightcrawler said. "You've seen zem, zey are trying to tan in ze sunset, it is amusingly foolish. Let's go."

"The blonde girl's my coach," Jubilee murmured back. "I want to go say hi."

The black-haired woman lying beside Alison reached for a knockoff D&G purse, then riffled through it, frowning. Her lips moved, and Jubilee strained to hear the conversation. "Ali?" The brunette had a clipped British accent. "Can't find my keys. Can I get a little light here?"

Alison rolled sleepily over and regarded her companion inscrutably, through John-Lennon shades. She was wearing a lacy white bikini, which she filled out rather better than Jubilee. "God, Lila." Blaire rolled over again, turning up the Crystals on her boom box. As the wall of sound echoed out over the waves, Alison Blaire flicked a nonchalant hand, and a blue star blazed light over Lila's head. Neither woman seemed startled.

"Gotcha!" Lila exclaimed jubilantly, fishing a key ring out of her purse and holding it aloft. "Took me long enough. Thanks."

Alison nodded and turned down the music. The star winked out of existence. _No way,_ Jubilee thought, astounded. _No way, no way, no way_. "Ali!" she yelled, standing up and waving. "Hey!" She trotted down the dune; Kurt followed her reluctantly, one hand securing his hood.

Lila jumped, scrambling to her feet. "…Jubilee?" Alison said cautiously. Despite her suntan, she was suddenly pale. "What are you doing here?"

"That was so cool!"

Alison flinched. She carefully rose to her feet, stepping backwards and blurting cagily, "Look, it wasn't what you think."

"Ali – "

"No, I'm serious," Alison insisted, "It was -- a trick of the light."

"It was on her stereo," Lila said. She was quietly pushing things into her D&G bag, getting ready to bolt. "It was, um, you know. Disco lights."

"No," Alison began again, raking a hand through her hair, "It was – "

Raising a hand, Jubilee concentrated. A stream of snow-white lights suffused into the dark, one-upping the stars. "Relax," Jubilee said softly. "We've got some stuff in common."

Alison's mouth fell open. "How are you doing that?" she whispered.

"I'm guessing about the same way you do," Jubilee replied. She waved a hand, produced a stream of sky-blue lights in the dark.

"No," said Alison. "I mean, what's your power source? The music's off."

"Power source?" Jubilee frowned. "I just kind of… go."

"Wow," said Lila. She pushed her aviators back, grinning at Blaire. "She's like a younger, cooler version of you."

"Yeah, well," Alison said dryly, "I already knew that." She glanced at Jubilee. "Lila, Jubilee. Jubilee, this is my guitarist Lila."

"That's great," said Lila coolly. She jerked her chin at Kurt. "Who's your boyfriend?"

Kurt pushed back his hood. Alison jumped and flinched, which almost pissed Jubilee off. How could anyone not see right away how sweet and gentle Nightcrawler was? And yet, to be honest, she'd had the same reaction. "Um, hi," Blaire said uncertainly to Nightcrawler. She seemed to be forcing the words out one at a time, but her tone was kind. "I'm Alison. Um…."

"_Guten tag_," Nightcrawler said reassuringly "Ze pleasure is all mine. I am Kurt Wagner -- the Incredible Nightcrawler." He looked up hopefully. "You may have heard of me."

"He's smooth," Lila said dryly to Jubilee. She turned to Kurt. "Should we assume that the Incredible Nightcrawler has incredible abilities of his own?" _BAMF._ Kurt, suddenly behind Lila, shrugged very modestly.

Alison laughed. "What was that you were saying about younger, cooler versions of us?" Lila flapped a hand to dissipate the smoke Kurt's teleportation had invoked, glowering.

"Look," Alison said, "It's getting late. We were about to take off. But if you guys need a drive…."

"Beats the subway," Jubilee said, glancing at Nightcrawler, who nodded vigorously. "Okay, cool. Our stuff's down that way, towards the parking lot. We have a couple shortboards to return."

"I'll walk with you," Alison said. "Lila?"

"Coming." Lila packed up their towels, slung her D&G bag over her shoulder.

"You went surfing?" Alison laughed, as they began to walk the same way Jubilee and Kurt had come. "Is there anything you _can't _do?"

"Math," Jubilee said immediately. Nightcrawler laughed.

They picked their way over the dunes, Alison and Jubilee a little ahead of Kurt and Lila. "You don't seem too upset with me," Alison said.

Jubilee shook her head. "The other day? You were mostly right. I was being a brat."

"I put in my resignation yesterday," Alison told her gently, and Jubilee stared at her, trying not to feel slapped across the face. "It had nothing to do with you. It's just… That place freaks me out, Jubes." She bent to pick up a piece of amber-brown beach glass, worn smooth by the waves. "I just… I've got a bad feeling about it. I think a car followed me home the other night. It just sat outside my apartment. Tinted windows, the whole deal, and when I looked out it drove away. I really like working with you, Jubilee, but I have to be honest with myself. Don't be mad."

"Isn't that my line?" Jubilee said, trying to smile. "I'm not mad, Ali. I get it. Really."

"What I said before still stands," said Alison. "I don't know what's going on, but if you ever need anything -- anyone to talk to, anywhere to go -- I'm here for you, Jubilee. One hundred percent."

"Just me?" Jubilee murmured. The dune grasses whispered against her legs. Alison raised an eyebrow. "What if I'm not the only one making a break?" Jubilee said. She nodded at Nightcrawler. "What if I have a couple friends who need a place to stay?"

"Do what you have to do," Alison said slowly, after a second, "And I'll be here for you. And your company." She smiled, handing Jubilee the gem of beach glass.

"You're a real dazzler," Jubilee said gratefully, closing her hand around the sea-smoothed pebble.

"It's been said," Alison grinned. "Dazzler... I like that."

Nightcrawler and Lila caught up. "Do you know where the Xavier Institute is?" Jubilee asked Alison. Kurt glanced around nervously, as though he expected Pyro to pop up behind a sand dune and bust them. Alison shook her head. "Okay. Doesn't matter. They're a prep school in West Salem. Find a phone book, give them a call, and tell them where I am."

"You really are staging a jailbreak," Alison said nervously. Lila had fished a felt-tipped pen from her bag and, grabbing Alison's tanned wrist, wrote "XAVIER INSTITUTE" in big letters, then continued to write "RING RING RING RING RING" until Alison rolled her eyes, snatching her hand away.

"Yeah, a little," Jubilee admitted. "You freaked?"

"Yeah, a little," Alison replied. "But I've probably done stupider things. Are you sure you don't wanna leave tonight, though? You don't have to go back there."

Jubilee shook her head. "I'm not leaving Gambit."

Alison raised an eyebrow. "Gambit seems like a big boy to me," she said. "I think he'd be fine on his own. But suit yourself."

They reached Jubilee's bedsheet-slash-beach blanket, and Jubilee gathered the surfboards, returning them to the rental kiosk. "I didn't see a batsignal," the clerk said, as he began locking up for the day.

"Nope. Enjoy your Vogue," said Jubilee, and trotted off.

Alison, Kurt and Lila were waiting in the parking lot. Lila Cheney owned an ancient black convertible, patched and scratched and bearing hints of duct tape. Jubilee hopped into the backseat without bothering to open the door; Nightcrawler followed her. Lila slithered into the driver's seat, revving the engine. "Everyone wearing seatbelts?" she yelled, over the engine's worryingly loud gasps.

"Yes," chorused Alison and Jubilee, both lying. Kurt, who had reached for his, blinked and lowered his hand again.

"Okay," Lila shouted, revving the longsuffering engine again, "Let's go!"

Alison turned on the car's tape player as Lila tore out onto the highway. _Tape player_, Jubilee thought in amusement and horror; this car really was ancient. A second later, discordant, exuberantly tuneless guitar erupted from the convertible's tin-can speakers, accompanied by with a shrieking, shrill female voice. Kurt winced. "What kind of music is this?' Jubilee cried, wrinkling her nose.

The night air rushed past them; the road was mostly empty, and Lila was going easily twice the speed limit. "_What_?" shouted Alison.

"I said, _what kind of music is this_?" Jubilee roared again.

"It's Bikini Kill!" yelled Alison. "Go with it!"

"You would prefer maybe The Crystals?" Lila scoffed, and turned Bikini Kill up louder. Jubilee was afraid the bass boost would actually blow the car apart.

Alison was yelling the lyrics at the top of her lungs. Even screaming, she really did have a great voice. "_Rebel girl, you are the queen of my world…."_ She threw her arms into the air; multifaceted crystal lights spun and shattered the night sky in candy-colored pinwheels.

"_Rebel girl, rebel girl_…" Jubilee joined in, adding her own weak voice and stronger powers show to the mix (she didn't know the song, but the chorus was admirably straightforward). The music and fresh air, plus the breathtaking light show, lifted Jubilee into a kind of heady euphoria. She pushed to her feet and stood on the backseat's ripped cushion, arms held out to either side, head thrown backwards.

"Don't make me rescue you again," Kurt warned Jubilee. She barely heard him, too busy flooding the darkness with light.

"What the fuck are you two doing, trying to blind me?" Lila yelled from the front seat, hitting her horn to punctuate her point. "I'm trying to drive!" They passed a busload of bewildered-looking tourists. Jubilee laughed helplessly, euphoric. Inexplicably, she felt truly happy. _Jubilant, even_.

Suddenly – something – happened. Jubilee felt a splitting pain in her head, and an ecstatic thrill in her heart, and the light surging from her fingertips glowed like phosphorus, blinding everyone. They were surrounded in light, bathed in light; you couldn't even tell it was nighttime, there was no darkness at all. The air was thick with radiance; the car slowed down, lifted up, almost.

Jubilee, dazed and not expecting the sudden recoil, tumbled backwards – Kurt grabbed her as she fell, pulled her into the backseat. Her power burst vanished, leaving only Alison's frail pinpricks of light. Lila was cursing like a sailor. "You okay back there?" Ali yelled.

"Better than okay," Jubilee gasped, elated and bewildered.

"You have to be more careful!" Kurt yelled, visibly shaken. "Vhat vas zat?"

"I don't know!" Jubilee replied, staring at her hands. They looked the same. "My powers did… something. Something happened." Shaking with joy and fear, she curled up in the backseat, eyes closed, wind whipping her hair into her face. Kurt put a hand on her shoulder; Lila godsped along the freeway.

"_That girl thinks she's the queen of the neighborhood_," Alison sang, and sent a sharp glance at Jubilee.

Eventually, Jubilee could hear Alison giving directions to the Brotherhood building, and she sat up, squirming around in the backseat as she pulled her jeans and shirt over her bathing suit. Nightcrawler watched her, caught himself, and tried not to. By the time Jubes was decent, they'd pulled into the sunflower-lined driveway.

"We'll meet up again." Alison told Jubilee. "As soon as possible."

"For sure," Jubilee agreed. She and Kurt climbed out of the backseat.

"It was nice to meet you, Kurt," Alison told Nightcrawler.

"Yeah," said Lila, who was reapplying dark lipstick in a round compact's mirror. "What she said. Everybody out?"

"Out," Jubilee confirmed.

"Be seeing you," said Lila, blared her horn in farewell, and sped away with a squeal of bald tires. Lee and Wagner watched her go.

"Vhat a day." Nightcrawler said finally, sounding mystified, as though he only half-believed any of it had really happened to him.

Jubilee grinned, pushing through the mirrored doors. "Lee and Wagner," she said to the security guard, and waited to be let through.

Usually, the guard waved them past with barely a glance. Today, however, he frowned, glancing down at a post-it note on his computer screen. "Jubilation Lee?" he said finally, sending her an almost accusatory glance. "And Kurt Wagner?"

Jubilee could see, in the corner of her eye, Nightcrawler's smile fading. "Yeah," she said slowly. "Is there a problem?"

He didn't answer her, but reached for the phone and pressed for an extension. "This is Grimm," he said into the receiver. "They're back. Um," he said to Jubilee, rather awkwardly, as he hung up. "You're wanted downstairs." He thought for a second, then added, "I'd hurry if I was you."

Jubilee didn't answer, feeling that Nightcrawler's cursing in German summed up her feelings up quite succulently. "Let's take the elevator," she said to Kurt.

"Let's go faster," he said, and threw an arm around Jubilee's waist. _BAMF._

The smoke cleared in the hallway outside Jubilee's bedroom. Rogue and Gambit were waiting. Gambit was grim and silent, tapping the edge of an Ace of Spades absentmindedly against his perfect lower lip. He didn't move when the prodigal prodigies suddenly appeared. Rogue, on the other hand, hobbled as fast as she could towards Jubilee, with such anger and indignation that Jubilee actually thought Rogue might strike her. "The hell you been?!" Rogue demanded, flushed bright red over her freckles, while Gambit watched.

Jubilee flicked her hair off her shoulder. "Oh, you know," she said, an insolent smile playing on her lips. "Out. Sorry, were you worried?"

"It ain't me you got to apologize to," Rogue said grimly. "Sinister's back and he wants to see you. You step on it an' get ready. Lord help you, you've already made him wait."


	22. All Dressed Up

Nightcrawler caught his breath

Nightcrawler caught his breath.

Jubilee suddenly wasn't feeling so cheerful, either. "Okay," she said. "Big whoop. Where is he?"

"He's made reservations at a restaurant," Rogue replied hotly. "Said he wanted to meet you properly, so you're havin' a business dinner. It's a damn good thing you got home when you did."

"Reservations?" Jubilee echoed, suddenly nervous. "What, for me and him?" Rogue nodded. Jubilee squinted. Was it some kind of ploy to get her alone, far from the complex, somewhere she couldn't call on Kurt and Remy for backup? That didn't make sense. Sinister ran the Brotherhood, everyone else squirmed under his thumb; if he wanted to isolate her, he could do it here. What game was he playing? "I don't think I've got anything to wear," she protested, gambling for time.

Rogue's mouth twisted sardonically. "He figured. You'll find somethin' in your room," she said. "Y'all ain't talkin' your way outta this one, so hurry up. You got twenty minutes; then Ah send someone down to get you." Keen to leave while she still had the last word, Rogue turned and hobbled down the hallway with as much dignity as her crutches allowed for. Gambit hesitated, then followed her in a flare of trench coat.

Jubilee and Kurt watched them go. "They noticed we were gone," said Kurt. "I vin."

Jubilee turned and key-carded her door, stepping inside. There was a dress hanging on the hook over her full-length mirror. Jubilee frowned as she lifted the garment down. She didn't like the idea that someone had been in her room -- and she hated the dress. It was gauzy and low-cut, very stylish, a deep magenta sprigged with silver threads. The sort of thing she might have worn to the prom she'd never had. There were shoes by the door, too -- stilettos. Nightcrawler's breath caught again, when he saw the dress.

"What's the matter?" Jubilee said, glancing back at him.

"There's nothing to it," Kurt replied, suddenly sounding very Catholic.

"Could you turn around?" Jubilee asked, not bothering to take up Kurt's challenge on the grounds of morality -- that was Sinister's jurisdiction.

"Vhy?" Kurt began. Jubilee laughed weakly, pointing at her wet beach things, and he spun, blushing. She wriggled out of her bikini, one eye on Nightcrawler. Then, clattering the wooden hanger, Jubilee roughly pulled the dress down over her head, smoothed it over her hips. The fabric was cloud-soft and weightless, skimming and billowing under her fingers. "Help me," she told Kurt, as she pulled the spaghetti straps over her shoulders.

"Vhat?" Nightcrawler said to the wall, refusing to risk even a glance over his shoulder.

"Would you help me, please? With the zipper."

Kurt came and pulled the zipper up; their eyes met in the full-length mirror. "What's with you?" Jubilee asked. "You look freaked. I'd think you'd get a kick out of this.'

Kurt stepped back as though she'd burned him. "You look very beautiful," he said frostily, "It is true. But believe me, _fraulein_ – when I think of Sinister touching zis gown, picking it out for you – it causes me no pleasure." Jubilee looked at her feet. There was a knock on the door; Nightcrawler opened it. It was Gambit.

"Hey, elf," Remy said, with a phantom of his usual easy charm. "Give me a minute wit' de girl, hey?"

Nightcrawler looked as though the very last thing in the world he wanted to do was leave Jubilee alone with Gambit. "Kurt," she said softly, and he gave in and left, closing the door harder than was necessary. Jubilee and Gambit regarded each other. "Like my dress?" she said sarcastically.

Gambit's eyebrow lifted. "Sinister's got good taste," he said just as coolly. "Credit where credit's due."

"Did Rogue send you down to collect me?"

"No, _chere_," Gambit said. "I'm only here to talk. You got some time."

"How much time?"

"Ten minutes." Gambit laughed, but it was cynical, and faded quickly. "Dat was a stupid stunt you pulled, today."

"Spare me," Jubilee snapped. She sat down on the bed, began wedging her feet roughly into the delicate high heels. The left one refused to go on properly. "You're the one who told me I was all Brotherhood-ified, so who are you to – "

"Workin' against de Brotherhood don' mean runnin' off to play hooky at Rockaway," Gambit snapped. "Another stunt like that and you'll find yourself in the cells, and den how we gonna get out of here?"

Jubilee sighed. "Kurt wants to come with us," she said.

Gambit's mouth fell open. "You told him we were makin' a break?"

Jubilee thought about Ali, their makeshift escape plans, and opened her mouth. Then she closed it again. Gambit didn't have to know about that. He'd just tell her all the things she did wrong because she wasn't a _master_ freaking _thief_. "Actually," she said, "He took the initiative. He wants out."

Gambit frowned. "Well, dat's fine, but if we have an opportunity to run, we ain't stayin' here for his sake. Kurt's not my priority, _chere_. You are."

Jubilee bent over her vanity mirror, brushing loose bronze powder over her sunkissed cheeks. "Uh-huh. That's why you wouldn't talk to me today."

Gambit opened his mouth, closed it again, and suddenly looked vastly uncomfortable. Which, Jubilee had to admit, caused her nearly boundless satisfaction. "I needed time, _bijou_. I had to think."

The nickname stung like salt. "Did it hurt?" Jubilee snipped, falling back on the old playground insult.

"Yes," Gambit said flatly. He looked down at his steel-toed boots, gazed out Jubilee's window. "_Chere_," Remy said, and his tone carried the quality of a prepared speech, "I'm sorry if you've gotten de wrong impression about my intentions -- or if you've misinterpreted, in any way – " 

"Misinterpreted?" Jubilee yelped, slamming down her makeup brush. Loose powder wafted in a mushroom cloud from her compact. "Come on. I didn't misinterpret anything. You held my hand, you offered me drinks, you gave me a stupid nickname. I _interpreted_, and you know it." Her cheeks burned.

"_Ma cherie…."_

"You messed with me," Jubilee whispered, "And I _like_ you." The word stuck in her throat and tied a knot there. Her cheeks and eyes burned. "So don't condescend to me, Gambit." She could feel her brimming tears overflow, and turned away from him. Gambit walked to her and put his arms around her. "Don't touch me," she sniffed, and pushed him away and stood there fighting for control. Gradually the tears stopped; Jubilee grimly stepped back to the makeup table and began reapplication.

Gambit watched her. "Oh, _chere_," he murmured at last, almost to himself. "De Gambit don' know what to do wit' all dese stolen hearts." He shook his head. "I like you too, don' get me wrong. But you're sixteen."

"Oh, please," Jubilee snorted, jabbing herself in the eye with a stick of eyeliner. Gambit winced on her behalf. "You were the one who was all 'I don't care how old you are' and 'you're not a kid'!"

Gambit's expression had taken on a stoical quality, like a POW during interrogation – staring straight ahead. "Yeah, I was."

"You kissed me back."

"Yeah."

"You led me on."

"Maybe."

"You should figure out who you are and why you mess with people," Jubilee declared, rounding on him, "And you ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

"Believe me," Gambit muttered, glancing out the window again, "I am."

Jubilee gave up. This was the worst. If he had argued with her, contested the charges, she would have had a chance. But he 'admitted' everything – even things which, by rights, he could have argued. The fact that he took everything she threw at him and more – Jubilee knew that meant he had resolved to make a clean break. "Is it me?" she asked in a tiny voice. "Am I not _pretty_?"

Gambit's jaw dropped. "Jubilee – "

"I know I'm kind of a brat," Jubilee whispered, "But…."

Gambit reached out, tilted up her chin so she had to look at him. God, those eyes. Like fire. "If I'd met you ten years younger," he said, almost fiercely, "Dis would've been a whole 'nother story. An' I tell you somethin' else," Gambit added, "A little _lagniappe_ for you. I can't count de girls I've loved and left. But de ones like you – de ones I consider friends -- dat's a rare breed. You understand?" 

"Can I ask you a question," Jubilee murmured, "And you tell me the truth?" Gambit didn't say 'yes' right away, which surprised Jubilee, and impressed her. He simply regarded her for a second. Then he nodded. Jubilee took a deep breath. "Did you use your charm power on me?"

Gambit's eyebrows lifted, but he didn't ask how she knew. "No," he said quietly. "Not once. An' I wouldn't." Jubilee nodded slowly, took a deep breath, and let it out. Gambit reached out, tucked a lock of Jubilee's hair behind her ear. "By de way," he said smoothly, "You look pretty near perfect in dat dress."

She shot him a wry look. "Gambit," she said, "You really have no shame at all."

"Shame?" Remy echoed, with a rakish smile. "What's dat?"

Jubilee looked in the mirror. She took a deep breath as her stomach twisted. "I'm scared, Gambit," she admitted softly.

Gambit was behind her; they looked at each other in the mirror. "No, you're not," he said.

"Oh, thanks for clearing that up for me," Jubilee snorted.

"You ain't scared," Gambit repeated calmly. "You got no reason to be. You survived de snakepit dis long. You survived Beast and Rogue. You'll survive Sinister; He's just a bit higher up on de food chain." Jubilee nodded, staring at herself in the mirror. "Same rules as always," Gambit continued. "Don' brag, don' lie, an' don't volunteer information." Jubilee nodded shakily. "Be charming, _chere_. You're good at that."

"Yup," said Jubilee dryly, rolling her eyes. "I know." He grinned. She crossed her arms. "Okay," she said, "where's Sinister? Let's do this shit."

000

Jubilee slid into the limousine's backseat without looking at its occupant. She wanted him to remain an indistinct, shadowy figure in her mind for as long as possible. The chauffeur closed the door behind her and slipped into the front seat, and the voice beside her said, "We'll be eating at the Broken Star."

"Yes, sir," said the chauffeur, and the black car pulled away into the black night. Then there was silence in the backseat for longer than Jubilee would have expected. Inevitably, however, it didn't last forever.

"Good evening, Miss Lee." The inflection of his British accent was not only upper-crust, but oddly old-fashioned, like something out of a parlor drama.

"H -- good evening," Jubilee said, adjusting to Sinister's voice the way a swimmer adjusts to icy water. She focused on her breathing – in, out, in, out – and tried to smile. "Where did you say we're going?"

"The Broken Star," said Sinister's voice. "It's owned by associates of mine. I believe you'll find it very much to your liking. You have the pedigree to appreciate such things."

"I'm sure it'll be awes -- lovely," Jubilee agreed. Her fingers, white-knuckled, clutched at her purse. She stared straight ahead, and they didn't say anything else -- the minutes clanked past, chain links. New York City faded up like a stage set, like the start of a play.

The chauffeur pulled to a stop. Sinister got out. The chauffeur came around to open Jubilee's door, but then she heard Sinister's voice, muffled through the window glass. "Please, allow me."

Sinister offered Jubilee a steadying arm to disembark onto the sidewalk. _What a freaking gentleman. _She stared at his hand, feeling herself go deeper into cold water. It was pale, quite large, very strong, and his skin had an eerie powdered quality, blue veins prominent and glowing. His wrist was framed in a circle of strange black fabric. She flinched as she put her hand in his and he helped her from the limousine, which pulled away behind her. His touch was cold as a corpse.

"This way," Sinister said, and she followed him through the bronzed main doors, into the Broken Star. Jubilee hadn't been in a restaurant this nice since her parents died. She looked for the little marks that meant quality, that meant money, and, yes, they were there. Even the chandelier's glittering teardrops were crystal, not glass. It was very elegant, very modern, and very, very dark; Jubilee feared for anyone who dropped their keys in this kind of lighting. "Well? Impressed?" said Sinister.

"It's okay," said Jubilee. It was also empty. Unpopular, or had Sinister somehow arranged?..

"Doctor Essex," said the headwaiter. Jubilee started; she hadn't even noticed the man. "Right this way."

They were seated in silence, the only sound gentle Spanish guitar – Jubilee couldn't tell whether the music was live or not. She didn't see a guitarist. Then again, in this kind of lighting, she could barely see her fork. "Do you know what you're wearing?" Mister Sinister asked her cordially.

No help for it. If they were going to Have A Conversation, Jubilee was going to have to look at him. "It's a dress," she said acerbically, dragging her eyes past his shoulders, up his neck. "I think." She took a deep breath, and looked him in the face.

The shock, despite all her efforts to prepare herself, was a bucket of icy water over her head. Sinister looked like one of those medieval portraits of the Reaper, updated for the new millennium. White-skinned, black-haired, in that strange black suit. His eyes were red, but not like Gambit's – Gambit's eyes were all fire and passion, impish, disarming. Sinister, however, projected the cool, measured calm of a cobra. The man's proportions seemed slightly larger than normal: a cybernetic Goliath. Was there a slight red light between his eyes? Jubilee kept catching a glimpse of it in her peripheral vision, but whenever she tried to focus on the glowing diamond, it disappeared. Was her mind playing tricks on her?

"That dress," Sinister said coolly, "Is a Vivienne Westwood original. Vintage, from the 1970's. It's older than you."

"Oh, ew," said Jubilee. "You got me thrift store clothes."

"What I have found about high fashion, in my time," Mister Sinister continued, as though he hadn't heard her jibe, "Is that there are people who can wear couture, and people who simply can't. Rogue, for instance, would look pathetic in that dress."

"I think Rogue is really pretty," Jubilee said quietly, staring at her bare white bone-china plate, the sharp contrast with the boxy ebony table. Looking at anything but Sinister's skull-like face.

"But on you…" Sinister looked Jubilee up and down in a way that was clinical, not licentious. Somehow, that made it even more disturbing. "That dress was made for you," Sinister pronounced in a purr. "Look at how disdainfully you wear it. Money runs in your veins."

"A lot more than money runs in my veins," Jubilee muttered. There was a lump in her throat. "I'm a Lee."

Sinister smiled. "You understand about breeding, then. The importance of blood."

"Um, sure," Jubilee said. "Look, where's the waiter? I'm hungry."

The waiter appeared, then, as though by magic – not with menus, but with food. "I took the liberty of ordering for you," Sinister said.

Jubilee didn't reply. She picked up her salad fork – then noticed the waiter was moving to fill her wine goblet. "I'm sixteen," she blurted, quickly clapping her hand over the rim. It had never stopped her before, of course, but tonight she wanted her wits about her.

Sinister gestured for her to uncover the glass. "Indulge. They won't mind here," he said smoothly, and the waiter silently filled her goblet and vanished. Jubilee's stomach turned. "The owners and I have an understanding." He picked up his fork and began to eat. "Try the mesclun. That wine, by the way, is a French cabernet."

Jubilee put down her fork. She couldn't shake the feeling that Sinister was play-acting; not introducing himself, or welcoming her, nothing like that. He seemed to simply enjoy the feeling of superiority he received from knowing which dress to buy, which fork to use, and to enjoy the novelty of being around someone who understood that kind of superiority. Jubilee's parents had had friends like that; she'd loathed them on principle. "I hate vegetables," Jubilee said frostily, "And I don't know anything about wine."

To Jubilee's satisfaction, that killed the conversation very thoroughly for several seconds. "In Washington," Sinister told her finally, breaking the guitar-laced silence, "They were very pleased and relieved that the Lee heiress is alive and unharmed. You gave many people quite a scare."

"Whoops," said Jubilee unenthusiastically. "Look, Mister Sinister, It's really nice to meet you. And I appreciate you taking me to a nice place like this. It's… a change. But why are we here?"

Sinister's eyebrows lifted. "I don't know what you mean," he said coyly.

Jubilee took a sip from her wine goblet, determined not to meet his gaze. "Beast said you have some kind of assignment for me," she said. "I'm guessing that's what this is about."

Sinister chuckled. It was terrifying. "You are correct," he said.

"Okay," Jubilee said brazenly, throwing back more wine. "Shoot. What's the mission?"

"You certainly are an impatient young woman," Sinister said. He lifted the bottle and refilled her glass. "I suppose it comes with youth. Very well, then. As you know, your parents were mutant-right activists."

"So what?" Jubilee said, sipping more wine – for courage, now.

"They were known for their… vocal opposition of any form of mutant segregation, governmental or otherwise."

"You're not really telling me anything I don't know here," agreed Jubilee.

Sinister finally lifted his wine glass. "Their intentions were commendable," he said. "But they went much too far. Mutant segregation which is destructive or limiting – as it occurred in Genosha, for instance – that is one thing. But as you know from your stay with the Brotherhood, other forms of government programs, as applied to mutants, can be very effective."

"Genosha's pretty lame," Jubilee agreed carefully. "What are you getting at?"

Sinister adjusted the front of his suit. "The White House is interested in taking the Brotherhood public," he said. "Unfortunately, the anti-segregationalist feelings which activists like your parents stirred up are still extremely strong. We'll be announcing the Brotherhood Unit at a press conference," he finished. "We'd like you, Miss Lee, to be one of our keynote speakers."

"And say…"

Sinister made a dismissive gesture. "Simply what you know to be true. That the Brotherhood is a positive, rewarding environment for mutants. And that your parents, while admirably dedicated, were incorrect in their condemnation of such programs. That they would have approved of the Brotherhood, if they had understood."

Jubilee gaped at him. She took a deep breath. She wanted to pick up her goblet, throw her five-hundred-dollar-wine in Sinister's face, that bastard. But she had to play this right, had to play it cool. She'd promised Gambit. Yet she couldn't agree to what Sinister was suggesting. Not even in passing, not even knowing she probably wouldn't have to go through with it. The very idea of saying _yes,_ that tiny, perfect betrayal… it made her sick. "I really wish I could help you, Sinister," Jubilee said carefully. "But I just… wouldn't be comfortable with that. To be honest, I don't think mama and dad_ would_ approve of this." She fiddled with her napkin. "I'm really sorry. I hope everything works out. And I hope you understand."

Sinister regarded her for a second, inscrutable. "Let me ask you something, Jubilation," he said slowly, smiling. "Are you enjoying your time here?"

"Sure," Jubilee said, smiling back weakly.

"You've been settling in? Making yourself comfortable?" Sinister chuckled. The sound grated down Jubilee's spine. "Well, of _course_ you've been making yourself comfortable. I needn't ask." He lifted his wine glass, took a slight sip. "You should see the size of the bill I arrived to. IKEA, MAC, Apple, Stella McCartney… you have expensive taste, Jubilation."

"It's a Lee thing," Jubilee said shortly, looking away.

"What I am trying to point out to you," said Sinister, "Is how accommodating and felicitous the Brotherhood's reception been so far. We have welcomed you. We have made your stay comfortable."

"No complaints here," Jubilee glibly lied. Comfortable. Please.

"You have no idea," Sinister said, still smiling cordially, "How quickly that could change. I will have you in a cell overnight. I will let Beast off the leash and no one will protect you, not even that classless Cajun you call your friend." He reached out and gripped her by the chin, so hard her eyes watered, forcing her to look at him. His hand was cold as death. "I will break you if I have to, so I recommend you bend. I was not _asking_ you to release a statement about your parents. I was _telling_ you that you _will _release this statement. If you try to resist, I will make your life a living hell. Do you understand?"

Jubilee's heart hammered. She tried to pull away from Sinister, but he held her fast. There was no getting out of this one unscathed without compromising her honor. Well, in that case, she'd just have to get out with style. She took a deep breath. Closed her eyes. Opened them.

"Go to hell," she told Sinister cheerfully, smiling back, and, picking up her wine goblet, dashed its blood-red contents in his bone-white face.

They didn't stay for dessert.


	23. Square One

"Did you miss me?"

It was the first time Jubilee had spoken since Sinister had her locked up, which he had done immediately upon arriving back at the base. The question was addressed to Gambit, who had just arrived and approached Jubilee's cell, with an expression that suggested only the bars were preventing him from throttling Jubilee where she stood.

Gambit shot Jubilee a long, steady, slightly hateful look and said, "You know you ain't makin' dis easy for me." Jubilee shrugged. Gambit said, "I take it de date didn't go well."

"Sinister asked me to do PR work for him," Jubilee said. "Release a statement saying my parents would go for his shit. I said no."

"You said no?"

"And… I might have thrown something at him."

Gambit stared.

"I was drunk a little," Jubilee said weakly, by way of excuse.

Gambit shook his head. "Love you to bits," he said, "but you got rocks for brains." He rested his forehead against the bars, holding one in each hand for support. He looked tired. "Well, Mademoiselle Jewel," he said, "How you propose we get out of here now?"

"Me?" said Jubilee. "You're the one who makes the plans. I just bring the fireworks."

"My plans, _chere_, did not involve dem lockin' you up and throwin' out the key," said Gambit. "Tempted to say you on your own."

"Don't say that," said Jubilee. "So we're in trouble. So we'll figure out what to do. No big." She paused. "So… what are we going to do?"

"I don't know," Gambit snapped. "I don't _know _what we're going to do. Ain't what you wanted to hear, is it? But shock, awe, _quelle audace_, de Gambit is only human an' you got him in a fix. Maybe he run out of Houdini tricks."

Jubilee looked at Gambit, but he wasn't looking at her, was staring off blankly down the hall. "You're really mad at me," she realized. Gambit just looked at her and shook his head. "I'm sorry," Jubilee said. "I… I wasn't thinking."

"Nope," Gambit said. "Now, I need some time to think of what we gonna do here. Time might be a luxury we don't have, but dat's de truth of it. I can't stay long here, dey'll miss me. I'll come back down when I got something to tell you."

"When?"

"Don't know."

"Gambit," said Jubilee, feeling sicker than ever, "You will come back, won't you? You won't just leave me here?"

Gambit looked at her, and his face softened. "I won't just leave you here," he promised. "We're getting out of here. Just got new variables to account for." He shook his head, a reluctant smile flickering. "Rocks for brains."

"You always call me Jewel," said Jubilee. "Maybe they're really precious stones."

Gambit chuckled. "Not your funniest, _cherie_."

"Well," said Jubilee, looking at her cold steel surroundings, "I'm doing the best I can."

Gambit reached through the bars of her cell and touched her shoulder. Jubilee noted, dispassionately, that the feel of his hand no longer woke rabbles of butterflies in her stomach.

_**BAMF.**_

Gambit and Jubilee jumped. Kurt said, "Am I interrupting?"

"I was just leaving," said Gambit.

Kurt didn't respond to Gambit, but looked to Jubilee instead. "I know what happened. What I want to know is why."

"I fucked up." Said Jubilee. The admission was purifying.

"You curse too much," Kurt said. Then he said, "This is very upsetting."

"You're telling me."

"You know what I mean. Will we still be able to…."

"Leave? Yes. You can say the word, you know." Jubilee was still wearing the towering heels Sinister had prescribed. She bent over and began to fiddle with an ankle strap.

"I'm figuring things out," Gambit said. "I'll let you know what de plan is when we got one."

Kurt nodded. "Is there anything I can get you to be comfortable?" he asked Jubilee. "A blanket?"

_Can we make you comfortable?_ The phrase reminded Jubilee too much of what you asked a dying patient. But Kurt couldn't know the English colloquialism. He meant well. "Pajamas would be nice. I'm a little overdressed for prison."

Kurt snapped his head up. "What is that?"

"It's what you wear to bed," said Jubilee. "Do you not have that word in German?"

"No, no," Kurt said, waving a hand at Jubilee impatiently. "That's not what I meant." His pointed ears twitched. He said, "Someone is screaming."

All three mutants fell silent. Jubilee heard nothing, at first. Then the faint sounds of a woman yelling curses. They were growing louder, coming closer. The voice was familiar. "That's Ali," she said, with a thrill of fear.

There was nothing to do but wait. Not even for long. Two of Sinister's guards dragged in Alison Blair, screaming bloody murder and fighting for her life. "Cell's open!" one yelled to the other, and Ali was unceremoniously tossed into a cell across from Jubilee's. The guards left, ignoring Gambit, Kurt, and Jubilee herself; and everyone stared at everyone, everyone confused, everyone beginning to despair.

"How did – " Jubilee began, but Ali cut her off.

"You never called! What happened?"

"Well, I – "

"Lila and I agreed I should come check in on you, and practically the second I say your name at the door, they haul me in here! What the fuck, Jubes?"

"You wanna calm down a little?" Gambit said dryly to Alison.

"Shut up, skeeze," Alison immediately ordered, and flipped him the bird. "I wanna know why that girl's locked up and you're not."

"Likely because I didn't assault anyone with red wine," replied Gambit.

"Whatever," said Ali. She was gripping the bars like a jailbird, staring about her in panic. "We have to get out of here," she blurted. "I have to get out of here." Her voice was growing shrill.

"Don' panic," Gambit suggested.

"Don't try to make me feel better," Ali spat.

"I ain't," Gambit snapped back. "You distractin' me. I gotta think."

"Someone has to call Lila," Ali breathed. "You." She jerked her chin at Kurt. "Fuzzy blue elf. You do it."

"Don't," Gambit told Kurt immediately. "You can't be implicated in this, on the off chance we – "

"Shut it!" ordered Ali. "Like I trust you to make any damn plan!"

"Who the hell are you anyway?" yelled Gambit, finally frustrated past suavity.

"I'm the fucking Dazzler, creep!" Ali yelled, "And who the fuck are you?"

Gambit was saved from the indignity of a response to the fucking Dazzler by the cell block doors, which crashed open again. Perhaps it was Gambit and Ali's little spat which had kept Nightcrawler from hearing the new arrivals as they approached – which was unfortunate, because Sinister, Emma, Rogue and the Beast had just arrived, all at once, with a few guards for good measure, and Jubilee would have appreciated advance warning.

"Nightcrawler," Sinister snapped. Kurt literally cowered, but all Sinister finished with was, "Upstairs. Gambit, upstairs. You're about to undertake a mission."

"What mission?" said four of them, at once.

"The X-Mansion is undefended," said Emma, as Sinister simply smiled. "The X-Men think Jubilee's in Washington. I saw to that. They're staging a rescue there, right now. We can sweep in and rescue Mystique… among other key operations." She nodded to Beast. "I'm thinking you won't run out of guinea pigs for a very long time."

"Splendid," said the Beast.

"No, no you can't," Jubilee blurted every cliché she knew, but none of them worked. "You can't." No one was listening.

"Kurt, Gambit, the team's waiting for you upstairs," Emma said. "Go." They went – Kurt shooting Jubilee a reluctant backwards glance, Gambit refraining from any such display of pity. "Not you, Rogue," Emma said, when Rogue attempted to follow them.

"What?" said Rogue. "What do you mean, not me?"

"Your leg is still broken," Emma said. "You're off duty."

"No, Emma, come on," said Rogue. "You don't understand. We're going after my mama."

"I don't care if we're going after your lost border collie," said Emma unsympathetically. "You're nothing but a liability to the team right now. You're sitting this one out."

Rogue said nothing at first. Then she snapped "Fine," and limped towards the stairs on her walking cast. Emma turned to follow her.

"Dr. Frost," Jubilee called after her. "Please. You can't do this. The X-Men trust you. This isn't fair. This isn't right."

"This isn't any of your business," Frost replied without missing a beat or breaking stride, and pursued Rogue through the doors. Jubilee rested her forehead against the steel bars.

Just Sinister, Ali, Beast and Jubilee left in the cell block – not counting the two faceless guards. Ali had a silent snarl on her face like a cornered wildcat, but Sinister wasn't paying attention to her. "Miss Lee," he said cordially, approaching Jubilee's cell. "Your little performance in the restaurant was far from appreciated. But I have other ways of getting what I want. Pardon the ambiguity of the phrase. You'll soon know what I mean."

Jubilee knew she couldn't use her powers in her cell, so she didn't try, but just drew as far back from the bars as she could when Sinister stood before her cell and fixed his glowing red gaze on her. Once more, she caught the echo of light between his eyes, the suggestion of a red diamond. What is that? _Did I see something?_ She met his gaze reluctantly, then curiously, then in a manner almost transfixed, mind blanking.

As though from somewhere far away she heard Ali cry, "Jubes, no!"

There was something rattling in her head. Somebody. The spell broken by Alison, Jubilee dropped her gaze, but she could still feel Sinister's unwelcome, even clumsy gropings in her mind as he rooted around, looked for – what? Tried to – what? Jubilee didn't know what he wanted, or what he was capable of doing to her. _Pink hippopotamuses,_ she thought desperately, trying to fill up her mind with junk, to firewall his telekinetic assault with a barricade of pure debris. _The first rule of Fight Club is that you don't talk about Fight Club. Won't you come home, Bill Bailey, won't you come home? Tiptoe through the tulips with me!_

It must have worked, somehow. Sinister emitted a low growl of frustration, and whatever had been rooting through Jubilee's grey matter absented itself._ I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts! _She silently declaimed for good measure, then cautiously left off. "Now or later," he told her through the bars in that clipped, too-polite British accent. "Now or later."

"Now or never," Jubilee shot back, her tongue thick with horror and with burning, hopeless pride. "And now's not looking good."

Sinister turned. "Take her," he said to Beast, and for one horrible second Jubilee thought he meant her, imagined a return to Beast's lab. But no. Beast had produced his keycard, was opening Alison's cell. Alison, of course, made a break for it – but Beast caught her easily, held her struggling in one massive paw, injected her with something. Ali fell limp in his arms. "She'll be an interesting subject," Beast said, as the guards hauled the punk priestess away. "For as long as she lasts."

"You can't," said Jubilee, again, although it was becoming more and more clear that, well - they could.

Sinister turned to look at her. "I will be accompanying my team on their mission," he told her. "When I return, we will finish what you have so rudely postponed. Do not expect to enjoy it."

"Go to hell," Jubilee told him again, but this phrase too seemed useless. Beast and Sinister turned and went, as likely to hell as to anywhere else, and Jubilee was left on her own, knowing that this time she'd lost.

_A/N: I went away, I worked as a creative writer for a year, I couldn't stand getting off work and just writing more so I did other stuff, I've just gone back to school, writing seemed interesting again, don't kill me, I love you and we're finishing this shit._


End file.
